#oregon timber trail

[brian-is-not-real]

I was watching a video from PNW Bikepacking about his experience on the Oregon Tiber Trail some time recently. He started with the grand depart of the race named after the trail but rode it at a more leisurely pace, which was still difficult.

I want to enter the race this year, obviously singlespeed, although I'm not sure if I can get the time away.

[from-memphis-with-love]

1849 - an Elvis Presley One-Shot

Summary: It's 1849 and the height of the Oregon Trail. Pearl, an innocent and inexperienced young woman, is plucked from the prairie and into a marriage with rough and tumble rancher Elvis Presley. She's practically paralyzed with fear on her wedding night. But all is not what it seems: he is actually loving and kind with her, and, with a little gentle coaxing, she soon comes to find out the true meaning of what her husband affectionately calls his "manly duties."

Beneath a velvet sky embroidered with stars, the sweeping prairie of the Willamette Valley undulated endlessly, its breezy grasses frosted silver in the gentle moonlight, swaying like the swells of a wheat-colored sea. The air, redolent with sagebrush and wildflower nectar, whispered tales yet untold. 

A weathered log cabin, sturdy as an old oak, nestled harmoniously amid the untamed expanse. Inside, flickering candlelight danced upon the rough-hewn walls, casting writhing shadows that capered about. This humble abode was far more than a shelter; it housed two hearts newly joined in matrimony's sacred covenant. 

Upon a mattress of timber and homespun linens lay the newlyweds. The sounds of crickets and distant animals floated on the night air, a natural lullaby straight from the land itself. They reveled in the hushed serenity of their nascent life together.

A stillness Pearl finally punctured with a question. 

"Elvis?" she pouted, her reedy voice not fully her own. "You've stolen the blanket." Mistaking her complaint for invitation, Elvis sidled closer, his sturdy frame a barrier against the cool night air. He slipped his hand atop her opposite side, ensconcing her between his bare chest and muscular arm. "Might I perhaps have them back, please?"

He nuzzled nearer, his tone playful. "Chilly? Lemme warm you up, then."

Now, with mere inches between them, his radiant skin-heat seemed to flow directly into her own, quickening her heartbeat. She swallowed, her voice quavering slightly. "Do you... have a nightshirt, perhaps?"

"A night-what?" His confusion, genuine or feigned, hung in the air between them, charged with the unspoken energy of their touch.

Pearl closed her eyes, seeking refuge in inky darkness, away from the maelstrom roiling within. She wished to be anywhere but perched on the precipice of her wedding night, an apprehensive innocent bound to a man whose depths were only just beginning to unfurl before her. 

Her thoughts meandered to distant places: endless prairies beneath boundless skies, their splendor unfettered and raw. She pictured the wind's caress, laden with wildflower perfume, conveying whispers of age-old tales. How she yearned for freedom, to roam unconstrained by society's fetters!

Her heart ached for the unknown, the thrill of novel faces and locales. Perhaps in a bustling metropolis, pulsating with a mosaic of sounds, she could vanish into the crowd, shedding her naïve bride skin. Or on a lonely mountain peak, inhaling the crisp air, losing herself in nature's majesty, finding peace in its seclusion. 

No, she banished the thought, Elvis Presley never feels fear, and I'm a fool to think otherwise. 

Somehow, this realization lent her the strength to open her eyes, letting curiosity temper her fears. Yet, the echoes of a strict upbringing whispered doubts, and she might feel more at ease about it all if Elvis kept some of his clothes on—at least for the night. She broached the subject of modesty. “A nightshirt. If you have one in that chest over there, I’d appreciate you wearing it,” she ventured.

Unlike Pearl, Elvis had no such compunctions about their intimacy, nor was he concerned with modesty. His hands, calloused from the laborious toil of ranch work, possessed an innate understanding of the contours that ignited pleasure. His lips held secrets of countless stolen kisses and whispered promises. He cocked a sly smile at her request.

“Honey, you know I don’t own no nightshirt. The closest I come is wearing my long johns in the winter, and now that I got you to keep me warm, I reckon I won’t wear ‘em anymore.”

“Then what, pray tell, shall you wear?”

In one smooth motion, Elvis lifted her until she sat upright before him, noticing with some relief that his trousers remained in place. Strong fingers carded through her hair, treating the auburn strands as delicately as silk. 

"Y’know, the first time I laid eyes on you, you know I imagined you wearin’ nothin’ but your beautiful hair?”

Pearl froze, stunned by the vulnerability his words implied. To be so exposed, with only her hair for modesty, sparked an instinctual alarm...yet also fascination. Like a deer in a rife’s sight, she wrestled with the storm of fear and curiosity Elvis's revelation provoked. 

Firelight danced in his eyes, flecks of gold glittering in that captivating blue. With care, Elvis gathered her hair over her breasts. Though clothed, Pearl shivered at the suggestive act, a blush creeping up her neck. 

"Just like that," he murmured admiringly. "Sweet little rosebuds begging to be kissed. Peekin’ out to me and all."

Sitting there, Pearl felt Elvis's gaze wash over her like sunlight piercing through fog. His words stirred something deep within, blossoming warmth that spread from her cheeks down through her chest. But it didn't stop there. A swirling eddy gripped her belly, intensifying into a molten pull that sunk her deeper into this newfound swell of feeling. No one had told her a wedding night could feel like this. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing away the betrayal of her body's response. 

Noticing her blush, Elvis leaned back, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Seems I might be pushing my luck tonight," he mused, his mouth settling into a bashful grin. He caressed her cheek, his calloused thumb rubbing soothing circles into her skin. “My God, you are so lovely.” Though his touch was gentle, she tensed. "Little Pearly, are you really that nervous?"

Pearl's heart raced, her cheeks burning with a mix of fear and longing as she took in the sight of Elvis's bare chest. The raw exposure of his skin, the dance of muscles beneath, stirred a whirlwind of emotions—curiosity, vulnerability. Fear. An evil desire she wouldn’t dare name. The way he looked stirred a terrible hunger deep within, and she couldn’t help but long for a barrier between them, a shield to temper the intensity of their connection.

With a voice touched by nerves, she mustered the courage to voice her yearning. "I would probably feel better if you put on a shirt," she ventured softly, unaware of the intoxicating effect her request had on Elvis, who looked back at her with a mix of amusement and reverence. "Are you sure you don't have one, Elvis?"

"I can do it with a shirt on, but I reckon I’ll have to take my trousers off sooner or later," he quipped, then caught himself, noting the joke wasn’t helping. "Is there anything else troubling you, darlin'?"

Pearl straightened, clearing her throat. "I’d really appreciate it if you just get on with it, please. I want to get this over with. We can talk afterward, alright?"

Elvis's smile faded, his thumb stilling on her cheek. "Ah, honey, I’m so sorry. I need a good whuppin’, that’s what I need," he said, nudging his nose against hers playfully. He twirled one of her curls around his finger, breathing in her scent. "I’m just a big ole oaf, is what I am. Here I am jokin’ my head off and you’re as nervous as a fawn. I should be making you feel good instead. Makin’ you forget what it is you’re so scared about.” 

Pearl’s eyes crossed trying to peer into his, so she let them flutter closed.

Cupping her face in his rough palms, Elvis lifted his forehead from hers, leaving a ghost of warmth behind. He pressed a feather-light kiss to the tip of her nose. Pearl's heart fluttered at the gentle gesture, her grip tightening on his broad wrists as he guided her back onto the bed. Sinking into the mattress, she felt a mix of trepidation and trust as Elvis settled above her, forearms bracketing her shoulders.

“My wife,” he whispered, chest grazing her breasts as he bent close. “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart,” he murmured, full lips barely brushing hers in a whisper-soft caress. “I’ll make it real nice for you. Pearl, I will never intentionally hurt you. I swear it.”

“Elvis...” She parted her lips to speak, but his mouth stole the words. His breath was warm and sweet with a hint of black coffee as she sucked it in. Soft lips trailed over the contours of her mouth, leaving desire in their wake. But when his probing tongue intruded, Pearl recoiled in shock and apprehension, questioning the unfamiliar invasion. 

Pearl's world narrowed to the feel of his lips. They ignited longings within her, each touch kindling dormant desires. 

Her racing heart stumbled over itself as his tongue gently challenged her limited experience. Fingers digging into his arms, climbing to the solid assurance of his shoulders, she wondered, silently pleading, What's happening to me?

Desire, raw and unbidden, surged within her. Yet a shadow of doubt whispered too, questioning her boldness. Still, as they kissed, warmth bloomed inside her, promising pleasure, promising connection. Though separated by her thin nightgown, his touch blazed lines of fire over her skin, pulling her into a dance between longing and hesitation. 

For the first time, Pearl reveled in the forbidden delight of passionate kisses, a realm unknown to her sheltered life. The caress of his mouth on hers was a dance, each movement stirring longing she hadn't known existed. Every press and yielding response painted a portrait of contradictions—firm yet molten, unyielding yet accommodating. She prayed they would do this part of it frequently, whatever came next.

Catching her lower lip, he rolled it tenderly beneath his tongue, gently nibbling. Oh yes, she adored kissing. Their kisses grew bolder, back and forth, until his chest pressed firmly against hers. Her pounding heartbeat drowned out the owl's hoot outside. Arching against him, she dug her nails into his shoulders, overwhelmed by urgent, indescribable desire. She pressed into his rippling heat with greater intensity, seeking solace in his muscular frame.

Again, he delicately caught her lower lip between his teeth, rolling it tenderly beneath his tongue and gently nibbling on it.

Oh, yes.

She adored kissing him. Their kisses escalated until she was deaf to everything but her pounding heart. Arching into him, nails digging into his shoulders, she was overwhelmed with desire, seeking solace in his heat.

He relinquished his hold on her hair, breaking the kiss to embark on a tantalizing exploration of her face. His lips traced a path along her cheek, leaving a trail of teasing nips and touches that sent delightful shivers coursing through her body. With deliberate intent, he traveled upward, caressing her temple before retracing his path down to her eyelids.

Oh, what sensations!

His mouth against her sensitive skin was pure ecstasy. Venturing to her ear, his breath resonated as he nibbled her earlobe, flicking his tongue along the tender hollow beneath. A soft moan escaped her. Descending to her neck, his kisses made her tremble, breath hitching. She adored his skillful, desiring mouth. His presence enveloped her, intensifying the longing within, and she felt a curious pooling in her lap that startled her. Their hips pressed together, moving slowly, heightening the achingly sweet yearning in her veins. Lost in the moment, she faintly registered his trembling hands worrying the buttons of her gown, finally easing the fabric open. A gentle breeze brushed her bare breasts, sending delicious shivers down her spine - an unfamiliar yet delightful sensation.

A faint whisper of caution echoed in Pearl's mind, a remnant of scriptures urging caution against such intoxicating desire. Yet the allure was too powerful to resist. She surrendered to cascading waves of pleasure, losing herself in the intensity of their connection, exploring the passion dormant within her. The world fell away. All that mattered was the electric current drawing them closer in a dance of yearning and surrender. 

"Good Lord," he rasped, voice thick with desire. "I can’t even breathe, I want you so bad.” 

His scorching tongue blazed a path over her taut, yearning nipple. A jolting shock seized her, stealing her breath, causing her heart to falter. His mouth enveloped her with fervent intensity, sensations reverberating to her toes. Wide-eyed, she glanced down to see his flawless face nestled against her breast. Gradually he retreated, teasingly tugging her nipple, teeth capturing the pulsating bud before releasing, only to repeat the exquisite torment. 

Shock rippled through her, leaving her gasping in disbelief. Yet he drew her back into his mouth, swallowing her essence with unyielding passion. Panic gripped her and she screamed, pushing against him with all her might, cries echoing. What is happening? What unspeakable act is this? Oh mercy!

She felt betrayed. His audacious promises were deceitful lies! He personified sinful, impure yearning. This pleasure was too good to be true. 

As Pearl's piercing screams reverberated through the air, the sound struck Elvis like a lightning bolt, jolting him from his haze. Fear and concern etched his face as he sprang up, heart pounding. Reaching out with trembling hands, he gripped her shoulders urgently, as if to anchor them both. 

"Darlin', what's the matter? Did I hurt you?"

She screamed again, scrambling away and hastily closing her gown with trembling hands, desperately trying to conceal herself - a raw, vulnerable moment, reminding them both of past wounds. 

"Leave me be! Don't you lay a hand on me! You deceived me, you lied!" she cried, anguished.

In the corner, Get Lo, the loyal hound, rose with a mournful howl as footsteps and voices neared the cabin. Fists pounded the sturdy door, causing it to tremble. 

"Boss!" Red's voice echoed. "Hey, boss!" More commotion. "Stand back! I'll kick it down if I have to!"

"No!" Elvis shouted. "It's alright, Red! Don't break down the door!" 

"Show yourself then, damn it! How do I know someone ain't holdin' a gun on ya?"

"God damnit, I'll be right there!" Elvis shot an anxious look at his bride, now wedged into the corner between the headboard and wall. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. One second and I’ll be right back, alright?" 

But she appeared more inclined to a tooth extraction than entertaining that idea. Elvis muttered an oath and went to the door, lifting the bolt and cracking it open to let Red glimpse him in the flickering candlelight. "We're alright. Weren’t nothing, Red. Just a misunderstanding, is all." 

Red's eyes blazed with desert-sun intensity. "A misunderstanding? She nearly shook the soul out of me, Elvis!" His voice held the edge of a man ready to face a nest of rattlers. "A misunderstanding?" 

Elvis bowed his head, a shadow of remorse etching across his face. "I’m sorry, Red. This is my doing, not hers." 

Red shot a knowing look and without a word, Elvis eased the door closed, his hand lingering on the bolt before it fell into place with a gentle thud. He turned slowly, his gaze drawn to the bed. 

Pearl clung to a pillow, her eyes wide pools of darkness against her pale face. Fear and disbelief swirled within those inky depths. 

"You lied!" Her shrill cry pierced the heavy air. 

Brows furrowed, Elvis sank onto the mattress. "Sweetheart, I swear I didn't deceive you. Please, tell me what I did wrong."

She wrapped her arms around herself, clutching her shoulders with trembling hands. "You lied! You gave me your word!" Her voice broke on the accusation.

Elvis leaned forward, elbows on knees, straining to read her face in the dim firelight. Though just minutes ago passion had flowed between them, now she recoiled from his touch. Her chin jutted out defiantly. "Why did you lie?"

Steady but tinged with desperation, his voice cut through the tense silence. "What lie?" His eyes searched hers for any glimmer of understanding. He fought to remain calm amidst the storm raging within the room. "Sweetheart, please, tell me what you believe I lied about."

Her lips twisted in bitter disbelief. "Don't play dumb. You said you conducted yourself righteously, like the brethren." She spat out a harsh laugh. "None of them would ever behave as you did. You lied, plain and simple. And I was foolish enough to believe it." 

Elvis ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, frustration creeping into his voice. "I did not lie."

"You most certainly did!" she shrieked, the words piercing the air. "You claimed to be free of impious inclinations!"

Elvis replayed his actions in his mind, struggling to pinpoint his misstep. He could only surmise he had unintentionally caused her harm. "Did I hurt your breasts when I kissed them? I didn't mean to come on too strong." 

She let out a scream, shielding her face with her hands. "Do not speak such vulgar words! I am not married to you! Do you hear me? I am not!"

"Pearl, you’re not talkin’ sense. People don’t marry and unmarry over a misunderstanding. They engage in con-ver-sa-tion," he implored, sounding out the word slowly. “We need to talk this through.”

"Well, I did not enter into a marriage. I was deceived!" 

Elvis sighed, running his fingers through his hair again. "Deceived, married...we have to talk. Please, tell me what I've done."

She persisted in hiding her face behind trembling fingers, oblivious to her gaping gown and the exposed breast it revealed. The nipple he had showered with affection remained erect, illuminated by the flickering fire. It seemed to beckon for more—a request he would gladly oblige if only she were more receptive. 

"You know perfectly well why I'm upset," she accused, voice muffled.

"No, I truly do not," he confessed. Shifting to all fours, he moved closer, examining her tender nipple. Pink and raw, it stood erect, pulsating with her quickened heartbeat. He was too rough, he concluded with regret. 

Grasping her knees, he gently unfolded her legs before straddling her thighs. Palms planted on either side, he focused on her quivering hands. "Pearl, please lower your hands and look at me." 

"No!"

"I promise I won't do it again. Alright? I'm truly sorry. From now on, you hold the reins. Whatever pleases you is exactly how I'll do things, I swear. You just have to tell me what feels nice and what doesn't." 

"Well, that certainly wasn't nice!" 

"Then, you guide me on how you want it, and I'll follow your lead." 

Pearl jerked away, a sob catching in her throat. Swirling emotions tightened her chest. "How can I trust you're not lying?" 

Elvis sighed, the sound resonating deep within his broad chest. "Have I ever lied to you?"

The faint scent of leather and tobacco enveloped her as he leaned closer. She inhaled sharply. "Yes." 

He raked a hand through his dark locks. "Sweetheart, let me show you the truth." 

His warm breath grazed her ear, evoking memories of his teeth grazing her sensitive flesh. Goosebumps prickled her arms. "Was it nice at first?" His deep timbre reverberated through her.

"Yes." 

"Well then, we'll only do what feels nice. I promise." His voice was like rich honey, urging her to taste its sweetness. 

She peered at him through splayed fingers. "Do you swear it?"

His eyes smoldered like blue flames. "Honey, I don't just swear it. I'll prove it to you."

His head dipped lower, warm lips finding her breast. She jerked back with a shriek, her elbow catching his ear. 

Elvis recoiled, clutching his head. "Damn it, Pearl Marie! Now I know I didn't hurt you that time!" 

“Scoundrel!” Shame flooded her cheeks. She scrambled to escape, but her nightgown snagged beneath his knees. Strong hands grasped her shoulders. She balled her fists. "Don't touch me! If you do, I won't be responsible. I'll fight like you taught me and I’ll break your nose this time!" 

"Why are you fighting me?" Hurt and frustration etched his rugged features. 

She trembled, anger and confusion swirling within. "Why? You do a thing like that and you ask me why? You lied! You promised to do things proper, but you didn't!"

"A thing like what?" Elvis began to grasp the situation, though he struggled to believe he had it right. "Kissing your breast, you mean?" 

She covered her face again, trembling. "Stop saying things like that!" 

"Like what? Breast? Nipples? Titties? Yer cans?" he started to laugh. She made a keening sound. Get Lo joined in, throwing back his head and emitting a playful bark. 

"Shut up!" Elvis yelled, his frustration mounting. Get Lo continued to howl, but Pearl jumped in surprise and began holding her breath. "Not you, honey." Elvis shot a fierce glare at the howling hound. "Get Lo! I don't need you interfering none!" The hound fell silent and grumbled. 

Elvis figured he had his answer regarding the matter of the breast. He rubbed his face wearily and blinked. "Pearl, do you believe that kissing you there is ungodly?" 

She removed her hands from her face, gaping at him in astonishment. "Of course it is! You promised to do things the regular way, and you lied!"

Realization washed over him. So that’s what this was about. “Well, what is the regular way, Pearl Marie? I guess maybe I ain’t real clear on that.” 

The fire’s amber glow illuminated her face, but darkness still shrouded her eyes. She perched on the edge of the roughhewn log bed, hands folded primly in her lap. 

"You're just supposed to do your... thing!" she insisted, biting her lower lip. 

Elvis cocked his head, his brow furrowing. "My thing? What exactly is my thing?"

She shrank back against the headboard. "Just... you know. And nothing else!" Her words came out in a nervous rush.

Elvis sank back on his heels, disbelief etched on his face. "Is that what your mother told you? Honey, I think there's been a misunderstanding here."

"No, there hasn't!" She sat up straight, her voice sharp. "She spelled it out plain and clear!"

Elvis's mind raced, recalling the tales he'd heard about the strict sects with their restrictive ways. The kinds of places that squeezed the lifeblood out of a man. His gaze drifted to the plain black dresses and gray undergarments piled against the wall. A hollow feeling settled in his gut. 

"Pearl Marie, are you saying the men in your church never touch a woman? They just...do it and leave it at that?"

She turned her face away, her chin quivering. "Yes. And Ma said I should just lie there and meditate, ignore the... goings-on while it happened." 

A laugh burst from Elvis's lips before he could stop it. Hazel eyes flashed accusingly at him and he threw up his hands. "Honey, I ain't laughing at you. I swear it." He struggled to compose himself, leaning back against the sturdy log footboard. Maybe he should change the subject, but he couldn't help it. Laughter shook his body until he had to clutch his stomach, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

"I ain't making fun, truly," he managed between fits. "Just had a funny thought is all."

He wiped his eyes, regaining a shred of control until he pictured himself in a black suit and hat, dutifully making sterile love. That image shattered his restraint. He laughed again until his sides ached, finally going limp against the footboard. 

"Well, damn," he muttered, wondering what had set him off in the first place. Wasn't funny at all. The woman he loved wanted to recite psalms while he moved inside her. Heaven forbid he disrupt her concentration. 

"Are you finished?" she asked crisply, buttoning her dress up to her throat once more. 

Elvis looked up at her. "Reckon I am."

"Then let me take this opportunity to inform you that I don't believe we are compatible. Our marriage would be a disaster unless you abandon your sinful desires."

He sat up and met her gaze directly. "That just ain’t gonna happen. Ain’t nothin’ sinful about a man makin’ his woman feel good.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist, dropping her eyes. Longing pierced his chest, for he did love her. But he wouldn't surrender his principles to appease her church's notions of marital duties. There was nothing unholy about wanting to worship every inch of her. If she believed otherwise, well, she was just as confused as the rest of them. He knew she'd be happier once he showed her the truth.

"Remember when I said we're coming at this from different angles?" he began gently. "That it might take some time to find middle ground?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Well, I was righter’n I thought." He gave her a tender look. "But that don't mean we ain't meant for each other. Just means we gotta compromise, both of us."

"I won't compromise my beliefs." 

"Honey, I ain’t concerned with your beliefs. It's your body I got my sights set on," he said, throwing her an innocent look, although looking harmless wasn't one of his natural talents. "We can work this out."

"How? I won't permit the things you did earlier. I won't!"

“Well, tell me something you will allow, and we’ll take it from there.” He leaned forward, propping his arms on his knees. With effort, he kept his mind off the image of himself in a suit. "What do the church men do exactly?"

She looked down at him from the side of the bed. "My mother told me that on my wedding night and every night thereafter, I should lie still on my back. She told me that my husband would come to me at night and join me in the darkness under the quilts. He would lift my gown to my hips and fulfill his manly duty swiftly. And there wasn’t much more to it than that," she gulped, her voice trembling. "And if I wished, I think of something else like prayer or meditation until he finished."

Elvis suppressed a chuckle. One stray laugh and she'd never forgive him. Instead he stroked his chin, hiding his smile. 

"Well, now, you see? We already got half of it licked. At least now I know what I can and can’t do," he said. 

Wary hazel eyes searched his face. He realized he'd shaken her world more than he’d thought. It was no laughing matter.

"So you might be willing to compromise?" Hope tinged her voice.

"Well, now..." Elvis considered swiftly."Is kissing like we did before allowed?" 

"Yes," she answered.

He stroked his chin. "Let's see if I got this right. From your collarbone down to your hips, that area's off limits."

"Correct," she nodded.

"But from your hipbones down, that's free territory?" 

"Correct," she confirmed.

"And in the area that’s mine, is there any rules?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

She appeared bewildered. "Rules?"

"Your ma told you their rules. So what do the church men do when they fulfill their duty? Tell me plain so I'm clear."

She shook her head. "She didn't say. They just... do it." She waved her hand dismissively. 

Bingo.

"So, there ain’t no rules how I do my manly business."

"Not that I know of. That’s your business. A wife does not concern herself with such matters," she responded.

Elvis raised an eyebrow. "So, I can do my business as I please?"

She hesitated, sensing a trap but unable to grasp it. In her innocence, she couldn't fathom his motive. Guilt pricked Elvis, but experience had taught him that sometimes conscience was a man's worst enemy. 

"I suppose you can," she finally answered. "It’s your business, after all."

"And you ain’t gonna protest? ‘Cept if I hurt you which I’ll try my damnest not to do." he asked. "Do I have your word? You just gonna think about scripture and let me do my thing? Let me conduct my manly duties as I see fit?”

She blinked at him warily. "You swear you won't engage in vulgar acts above my hips?"

"Honey, not unless you ask," he assured her.

"Why would I ever ask such a thing?" Incredulity filled her voice.

"Just leaving it on the table is all. Do I have your word?"

"Yes, you have my word," she replied.

Elvis suppressed a grin. "One more thing. How much time do I get?" 

She gaped at him, eyes wide. "Well, I don't know. How long does it take?"

"Well, that's the thing. Sometimes longer than others. Can I have all the time I need?" he proposed.

"I... suppose so," she hesitated. 

Elvis raised his hands. "Well, there you go. A com-pro-mise, just like you said. You promise you’re okay with this?"

She eyed the rumpled quilts where she had lain just moments before. A crease formed between her brows. Reluctantly, she nodded, though her pursed lips revealed lingering doubts. 

"I promise," she replied, sounding skeptical. "On the condition that you swear to be content with the brethren's way of conducting ourselves, forever."

Elvis lifted his right hand. "I swear on my mama's grave, I won't lay a hand or lip on you from hips to collar—'less you ask me to."

“Shall I lie back down then?”

“I reckon.” 

With a resigned sigh, she slid back onto the feather mattress. Stiff as a plank, she squeezed her eyes shut and folded her hands over her chest, bracing herself. In a small voice she called out, "Elvis?"

“Yes, darlin’?”

"Don't forget the quilts." 

In response, Elvis reached behind, his fingers brushing against the rough woven quilts. Gripping the edges, he rose to his knees and gently peeled back the layers of fabric. 

"Covered up to your chin?" he asked, his voice a tender whisper. 

She nestled into the quilts' warmth, squeezing her eyes shut as if blocking out the world around her. "Please."

Elvis tugged the quilts up to her chin and slipped underneath beside her. "I can lay my arm over you, can't I? I've done it a million times already," he whispered, his warm breath caressing her cheek.

"Yes. That should be fine.”

With a feather-light touch, Elvis curved his hand around her waist, fingertips pressing into her soft flesh as he drew her closer. "Come here, sweetheart. You're still scared." Propping himself up on his elbow, he gazed down at her closed eyes, placing gentle kisses on each delicate eyelid. "I'm sorry for how I acted before, for shocking you. You know I would never do it on purpose."

She turned her cheek toward his lips, savoring their tender brush against her skin. "And... I'm sorry for hurting your ear. Are you alright?"

"I’m fine," he reassured, his voice low and soothing. 

Elvis started to tenderly brush her hair away from her face, tucking back silken strands behind her ear. "You’re so beautiful it breaks my heart. Have I ever told you that?"

She lifted her lashes, a smile gracing her lips. "Oh, Elvis." She embraced his neck tightly, inhaling his familiar scent. "I apologize for all the cruel things I said."

He held her close, pressing his face against her hair that smelled of waterlilies, feeling as though he possessed all the world's riches in his arms. "It ain’t nothing, I know you didn’t mean it." She pressed her body closer to his, molding her curves against his hard contours. He couldn't help but smile, a spark of desire igniting within.

Kissing. 

Pearl's lips melded with his, sparking an electric current that coursed through every nerve. The celestial stars themselves seemed to pale in comparison to the heavenly sensation surging within her. She yearned for more, quivering in anticipation of his touch. He claimed her mouth once again, exceeding her loftiest expectations. With torturous slowness, he traced her lips, exploring their delicate curves and coaxing soft sighs from her throat. As their bodies pressed together, his chest grazing hers sent delicious shivers dancing across her skin. She dismissed the friction as accidental, though an aching need stirred within her. 

Each kiss scattered her thoughts, shattering her inhibitions. Clinging to him fiercely, she sought to draw him closer still, desperate to merge their souls. Her nails dug crescents into his shoulders, stinging pain he appeared oblivious to. His lips blazed a trail down her neck, igniting an inferno beneath her skin. 

"Oh, Elvis..." she breathed, the words trailing off as emotion choked her voice. 

“What, darlin’? Am I wanderin’ too close to your collar?” 

Sensing the question hanging in the air, tears pricked her eyes. With a single word, she could end this exquisite torture. His taut muscles revealed his readiness to comply. Yet the thought of halting him brought inexplicable sorrow. Her fingertips glided over his shoulders, feeling the power coiled within him—power that belonged to her. 

She recalled his sudden embrace the night before, his body pressing down, dominating yet tender. He could have taken anything, but treated her like fragile glass. Always in control, yet somehow still hers to command.

Last night, when she'd elbowed him in the ear, he'd instinctively withdrawn, putting needed space between them. The irony was not lost on her; she had become a threat to him. But it was his tenderness that stirred her emotions, now bringing tears to her eyes. She was deeply moved by his unwavering care and protective nature. Oh, how she adored him, her heart overflowing with immeasurable love.

"Sweetheart, you're crying. Did I do something wrong?" His words were laced with concern, a genuine desire to understand and make amends. Pearl found herself unable to form a response, emotions rendering her speechless.

"Should I stop?" he asked gently, his voice conveying both worry and willingness to fulfill her wishes. 

“Oh, Elvis!” she finally managed.

His hand slid from her waist, slipping between her and the mattress, pulling her closer against his solid chest. "What's the matter, darlin'? Are you scared? I promise, I'll be gentle with you. Don't be afraid," he whispered in a soothing tone.

"I love you!" she exclaimed, clinging to him, seeking solace in his embrace. "I'm not afraid. It's just... oh, Elvis, I love you so much it hurts." 

He tensed, her words both balm and challenge to his heart. "I love you," she said again, conviction ringing in her voice. "I love you more than words can express."

A tremor rippled through his sturdy frame. His rough, calloused hand were splayed across her back, yet he treated her like the most precious treasure. Despite his strength, his touch remained gentle and caring. "Oh, darlin’," he whispered, voice quivering. "I love you too. With all that I am and all that I’ve got. But it shouldn't make you sad."

"I'm not sad! I'm happy!" she insisted.

He pressed tender kisses to her other cheek, tasting the salt of her tears. "Well, damn..." Frustration and bewilderment colored his tone, making her giggle uncontrollably. She felt his lips curve into a crooked grin against her skin as he continued trailing kisses along her ear. "Pearl Marie, will I ever understand you? Crying because you're happy. Darlin’, sometimes I swear you’re just plum crazy. You don’t make a lick of sense!"

She tilted her head, surrendering to his kiss, the word "lick" igniting a fervent desire for him to tease her sensitive spots with his tongue once more. As if sensing her need, he found a delectably vulnerable spot just below her ear, eliciting a soft gasp as she melted into his touch. 

"Yes, right there. Just like that. Oh, yes..." she whispered huskily. Her gown began to shift as he tugged it up, initially causing a spike of fear. But then his palm caressed her bare thigh, sending waves of pleasure washing over her.

Each touch felt like butterfly kisses, leaving her skin tingling with anticipation. Her heart pounded against her chest, and her breath turned shallow and unsteady. With feather-light fingertips, he traced a path to the very core of her being, teasing and tantalizing her with every stroke, only to trail away and trace maddeningly sweet patterns along her knees. It was as if her very essence had turned into a molten syrup, yearning to flow and merge with his touch. The quilts shifted, and suddenly she felt the moist, silken press of his lips against her thigh. Startled, she opened her eyes wide and stiffened with a mix of surprise and uncertainty. 

"Elvis, what are you..." Her words faded to a breathless moan as his tongue flickered, tracing delicate spirals that kindled liquid heat low in her belly. 

Through the quilts, his muffled voice vibrated against sensitive flesh. "Just relax, darlin'. I'm tending to business." 

"But, I don't know if..." She clamped her knees together, but his broad shoulders gently eased them apart. 

Pearl clutched the rough-hewn headboard, pulse racing. Was he really going to...? Oh Lord, the man aimed to kiss her there. Shock paralyzed her even as exquisite sensations spread like wildfire across her skin, urging her to surrender. 

"This ain't proper," she managed, but her resolve wavered under the intoxicating caress of his lips. 

He lazily circled her inner thigh, tongue painting glistening trails that seared like summer sun on bare skin. "Hush now, you're sweeter than cherry pie." His warm breath raised gooseflesh. "Let me take care of you."

"Darlin', reckon this here's how it's done?" 

"Elvis, are you sure 'bout this? I... I can't rightly tell."

"Start meditatin’, sweetheart. This here's my territory, not yours. Got it?" 

She closed her eyes, her voice quivering. "Mediating?" she repeated, sounding mighty puzzled. Drawing nearer, he raised his shoulders, leaning in closer to her. "No need to fret, darlin'. Remember what your ma told ya. Jus' lay still and don’t pay me no nevermind." 

He continued his tantalizing journey upwards. She twitched, tightening her grip on the headboard, her gaze fixed on the heavens. 

"I'll holler when I'm done, alright?" 

Done? Pearl felt an intense longing surge through her core. Close her eyes, that's what she was supposed to do. But... oh, dear heavens. "How long will it... will it take?" she managed to inquire. 

Rough palms grasped her backside. Pearl's eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping her parted lips. Merciful heavens, he meant to... 

"Just as..." he trailed his tongue along her inner thigh, sending shivers of pleasure with every teasing lick, "just as long as it needs to, darlin'." 

The first slow lap of his tongue drew a shuddering moan. Fingers clutching the sheets, she stared skyward. This couldn't be real. But the wet heat enveloping her dispelled all doubts. 

When he found that one exquisitely sensitive spot, her body jolted as if struck by lightning. "Elvis, I can't..."

"You can, darlin'," he purred before capturing her swollen flesh. 

"E-Elvis?" she stammered, her voice vibrating as if it traveled through her vocal cords on a wild bronco.

"Darlin', this part ain't your concern. Jus' lie still and let me handle my business, ya hear?" 

"Oh God, please..." She twisted handfuls of his hair, no longer caring what was proper. 

His low chuckle vibrated through her very core. "That's my girl. That's the rule," he drawled firmly. "This here's mine to do as I please, without your fussin', right?" 

"Y-yes." 

"Well then? You lie still and quit your worryin'." 

With that declaration, he resumed his gentle lapping, causing her to arch upward uncontrollably. Small, high-pitched sounds escaped her lips. She clung to the headboard, her body rising higher and higher. "Oh my... oh my... mercy, mercy!"

“There’s a girl. Give it to me, darlin’.” 

"Yes. Oh, yes," she breathed out, her hands digging into his scalp. "Oh, my God! Oh, dear heaven. Oh, pardon me! I'm meddling again." 

He chuckled again, the deep rumble shattering her thoughts as his mouth claimed her sensitive flesh. His tongue swirled and flicked, sparking a blaze that raced through her veins. Digging her heels into the mattress, she arched up, surrendering completely as her hips moved with his. Muscles twitching to his rhythm, the pressure built sharper and sharper within her. Just when she thought she couldn't take anymore, his mouth surged, fiercely pulling until she fractured with a cry, sensations bursting in a kaleidoscope of colors. 

She was precious to him. 

Throughout his life, Elvis had longed for a woman to love and make his bride, but only now did he truly grasp the meaning. She was his salvation, a woman woven from delicate lace and sunbeams, with eyes as vast as the summer fields. She was warmth and radiance, the tender blossoms of spring. A beautiful and perfect gift. It felt as if he were discovering love for the first time. And in a way, it was. For Elvis Presley was a tough man with an untouched heart. Until now. 

This girl held his heart in her hands, capable of making it sing with joy or bleed with sorrow. With a single arch of her spine and a lift of her slender hips, she could ignite him with bliss. He adored her. Her guileless urgency and unwavering trust nearly moved him to tears. No reservations. Just pure vulnerability. And as she shattered in climax, he tasted the rhythm of her heartbeats in the sweet throbbing of her flesh. Afterward, he tenderly caressed and kissed her, soothing her delicate sensitivity, easing the ache that lingered. 

When her breaths steadied, he hovered right over her. With her eyelids drooping low and a dreamy smile on her lips, she looked up at him. "Are you done?" 

Elvis leaned in for a kiss. "Nah, sweetheart. I'm just lettin' ya catch yer breath afore we go at it again." 

Her eyes widened. "Again?" 

He grinned and shifted to lie beside her, propping himself up on one arm to get a good look at her face. How beautiful she was, basking in the afterglow of the pleasures he brought to her for the first time! 

Beneath him, she gasped as his finger delved deep into her slick heat, back arching, breasts straining against her thin nightgown. He watched each expression dance across her features - surprise, wonder, rising urgency. Teasing and pulling back, he brought her to the edge again and again. When she arched, nipple grazing his chin, he flicked it lightly. 

She cried out, quivering, "Oh yes!" 

Another deep stroke had her whimpering, begging for more. 

Grinning, he met her gaze. "Want me to show 'em some lovin'?"

"Oh, Elvis. Do it again. Please." 

Elvis lowered his head, gripping her nightgown with his teeth, and pulled it up her slender frame, exposing her bosom. 

Elvis' fingers trembled as he grasped the thin fabric of her nightgown, the white cotton soft like a wisp of cloud between his teeth. With a gentle tug, he peeled back the garment, exposing her bare breasts to the fire's amber glow. Rosy peaks puckered in the chill night air, beckoning his touch.

"Ask me nice, darlin'," he murmured, breath warm against her chest. 

Frustration flared in her eyes. Snatching a fistful of his hair, she wrenched him downward. "Just do it already!"

That sure as shootin' had "please" beat to hell. And he reckoned he had every right to tease her mercilessly before giving her what she desired. 

Elvis swept his tongue slowly around one taut nipple, tracing its shape, feeling it swell beneath the caress of his mouth. A flick of his tongue made her gasp, then he returned to circling, building anticipation. When he finally closed his lips over the bud, its softness overwhelmed him. He suckled gently and was rewarded with the honeyed taste of her skin. 

To his surprise, her body began to writhe, hips undulating, fingers twisting the sheets. The telltale pulsing against his palm revealed she was cresting that peak of ultimate pleasure. Twenty-one years without a lover's intimate touch, and now she came undone in his arms. 

He savored each tremor that wracked her slender frame, the way she arched and cried out with abandon. Elvis brought her to that precipice two more times, worshiping her with his mouth until his own need could be denied no longer.

Rising above her, he gripped her legs behind the knees and nestled against slick, molten heat. Still lost in rapture's haze, she gazed up with heavy-lidded eyes, oblivious to the pain that awaited. The primal urge to plunge ahead warred with his vow to cherish her. 

"This'll hurt just once, darlin'," he whispered, hating himself. "I wish to God it weren't so." 

She blinked, her gaze fixed on his face, her eyes shimmering in the warm glow of the fire. "I understand. Just hold me close through it all," she implored softly. "With you beside me, it won't hurt as much. I won't feel afraid."

Tears blurred his vision. Elvis gathered her in his arms, surrounding her with his strength. She wrapped both arms about his neck, clinging tight. "I'm not scared anymore," she breathed against his cheek.

Though brave in word, her body tensed as he positioned himself at her entrance. In that moment, he would have given all he owned to spare her even the slightest twinge. The not knowing tormented him—how much agony she might suffer as he forged ahead. With infinite care, he nudged inside, felt her passage resist and then give way as she flinched in his embrace. The small cry that escaped her lips shredded his heart.

He buried his face in the silken veil of her hair, cursing the merciless act love demanded of him. To harm the one person who mattered most gutted his soul. 

But the cabin cocooned them in its embrace—the familiar smells of woodsmoke and pine, the fire's soothing crackle, the handcrafted furnishings whispering of shared memories. Their sanctuary through so many storms past would shelter them through this too. 

"Do it," she insisted, though her body still trembled with fear.

Panic jolted through him like lightning. "Jesus, I can't! I'm hurting you!" He started to withdraw, terrified of damaging her delicate frame. She was far smaller and tighter than any woman before. The risk of forcing himself deeper made his blood run cold. "You're too small, sweetheart," he choked out.

But before he could pull away, she lifted her hips, impaling herself upon him in one swift motion. 

Elvis' heart stopped mid-beat. He felt her tight channel give way as she took him fully inside. Fear for her clouded his mind. 

"Oh, God damn," he uttered, his voice laced with a mixture of desire and vulnerability. A soft, fragile laugh escaped her lips, and he felt the tension gradually dissipate from her body. With a tenderness that matched the love he held in his heart, she pressed her damp cheek against his neck. The touch of her wet skin against his sent shivers down his spine. In a hushed whisper, she reassured him, her words carrying a profound truth. "It’s all right now," she murmured. "It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought." 

Pearl gasped, her back arching off the rumpled sheets. Elvis hovered above, his elbows planted on either side of her shoulders, beads of sweat trailing down his furrowed brow. His hips rocked in a steady rhythm, eliciting soft mewls and whimpers from his wife. 

"Is this okay?" His voice was gruff, laced with restraint. Pearl's eyes fluttered open, pupils blown wide with desire. She nodded, breathless.

Elvis maintained his pace, relishing the slide of skin against skin. Pearl's nails raked down his back, leaving angry red trails in their wake. Her thighs tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper. 

"Oh!" she cried out, the sound sharp in the quiet cabin. "Don't stop, please..."

Elvis complied, quickening his thrusts as Pearl's moans grew louder, more desperate. Her hips bucked to meet his, the bed frame creaking in protest. The musky scent of their lovemaking permeated the air. 

Pearl's inner walls clenched around him as her climax crashed over her. The sensation tipped Elvis over the edge, his own release pulsing through him in waves. He collapsed on top of his wife, their hearts hammering against each other. 

As their breathing slowed, Elvis nuzzled Pearl's neck, inhaling her familiar floral scent. Her fingers lazily combed through his hair. He pressed a tender kiss to her collarbone, overcome with gratitude and awe. 

No longer was he a lonesome wanderer. Pearl had become his sanctuary, a beacon guiding him home. Elvis held his wife close as sleep overtook them. The distant howl of coyotes echoed outside their cabin, but they felt no fear in each others’ arms. Here, tangled together, they had found their own private heaven.

[fishrpg]

Coming This October On FishRPG...

Somewhat surprisingly, the dice have demanded that I revisit the western aesthetic after only a month. Though instead of a weird west, I'm going to be focusing on a more historical western without magic. And I'm also going to be switching things up and focusing on fleshing out pieces of a singular fictional settlement instead of doing a broader area of larger areas. After much consultation with the dice, let me introduce you to

The Town of Bowman

Bowman is a frontier town in southern Oregon, right on the border with California. It was founded in 1852 back when the area was still the Oregon Territory. It was founded as hub for emigrants who were leaving Oregon and flocking to the Applegate Trail during the California Gold Rush.

Geographically, the town is on the Klamath River, just southwest of where Altamont would be located a few years later. The town would eventually fail and its population would relocate to Altamont and Klamath Falls, though this didn't happen until the turn of the 20th century. For setting purposes, the version of Bowman I'm looking at is how it would have looked during 1872-1873. During this specific time frame, Bowman is located in Wasco county, though that specific area will be reassigned as Lake County in 1874 and eventually turn into Klamath County in 1882.

Bowman's economy is at an inflection point during this period; its primary industry has been harvesting timber from ponderosa pines, but the clear cut areas have now given way to a thriving cattle ranching community. Exceptionally harsh winters in 1879 and 1889 would eventually destroy cattle operations, hastening the town's decline.

Rail activity in the area predates the Transcontinental Railroad. Currently the town is served by a branch line that connects to the larger Oregon and California (O&C) Railroad. The branch line runs east-west, bisecting the town.

To the north of Bowman is the Klamath Indian Reservation, established in 1864. The Reservation is home to three tribes: Klamath, Modoc, and the Yahooskin Band of Northern Paiute Indians. Unfortunately, the town's location puts it the crossfire of a conflict known as the Modoc War that is currently ongoing.

------------

Header image taken from the Oregon Encyclopedia, and depicts George Nurse's home in Linkville, which would eventually become Klamath Falls.

[dwellordream]

“Some homesteading wives reluctantly went along with their more enthusiastic husbands, dreading the hardships and uncertainty that lay ahead. In 1853, before heading west from Kansas to Oregon, Elizabeth Goltra mournfully wrote in her diary, ‘I am leaving my home, my early friends and associates never to see them again, exchanging the disinterested solicitude of fond friends for the cold and unsympathetic friendship of strangers.’ She continued, ‘Shall we reach the ‘El Dorado’ of our hopes or shall one of our number be left and our graves be in the dreary wilderness?’

…On the trail, women spent some of their most pleasurable moments in each other’s company--around a campfire at night, knitting and talking over the day’s events, cooking, or washing together. Catherine Haun, who crossed the Plains in 1849, recalled, ‘During the day, we womenfolk visited from wagon to wagon or congenial friends spent an hour walking, ever westward, and talking over our home life back in ‘the states’... voicing our hopes for the future and even whispering a little friendly gossip of emigrant life.’

Finally, after the long days on the trail, after endless hours of wondering what their new homes would look like, travelers arrived at their destinations--only to discover more hardship ahead. Even the hardiest woman was brought down by the sight of her new home--a crude log cabin without doors or windows; a shack with tar paper walls, canvas ceiling, and a dirt floor; or a dirty brown soddie--a dwelling made out of hard-packed soil--which often housed insects and snakes in its four walls. Many settlers had no home at all until the family built one. Mary Rabb spent her first weeks in Texas ‘spinning under a tree,’ with only ‘a quilt and a sheat for a tent.’

…While men cleared the fields for farming, or panned for gold and silver, women did the work of homemaking. They cooked and cleaned, baked bread and pies, sewed their families’ clothing, preserved foodstuffs for the winter, made soap and candles, and raised chickens and vegetables. Because of the spartan conditions under which they worked, they took special pride in a well-made pair of trousers or a good meal.

Women also shared the hard, physical labor with their husbands. They helped construct homes, drove plows, sawed and hauled timber, and stood guard at night for fires or predators. As one Oklahoma woman recalled, ‘In those days the wife had to help do everything.’ Still, women were primarily responsible for the essential work of homemaking. They even turned some domestic tasks into opportunities to relax and socialize. Quilting parties, for example, were a favorite pastime in which women visited together while working on a quilt.

…Some whites--even those who opposed slavery--did not want to compete against blacks for land and work, and they supported efforts to restrict blacks from migrating or purchasing land. In Iowa, free blacks were required to show a certificate of freedom before being allowed to settle, and most western states and territories in the 1850s and 1860s prohibited black inhabitants from testifying against whites in court or from riding stagecoaches and streetcars. Black and white settlers alike shared the hardships of homesteading, but rarely did these shared difficulties blossom into mutual support or friendship.

Throughout the frontier, from the lush green valleys of Oregon to the flat, arid lands of the desert Southwest, both black and white women settlers used their talents and resources to help their families and communities. A higher percentage of free black women worked outside of their homes because of economic necessity. Most black women worked as domestics, while others became washerwomen, cooks, dressmakers, and nursemaids. Like black domestics and laundresses back home, they toiled long hours for meager wages and endured their employers’ demanding treatment.

…Most settlers did not understand or respect the Native Americans’ way of life, a life dependent upon the bounty of the earth. While Native American men hunted game, women collected seeds and roots and harvested crops. Native Americans looked to the sky and the soil for spiritual sustenance as well. The natural world embodied their deities, and their religious traditions and folkways expressed a gentle, respectful love of the earth and all things natural--a reverence that homesteaders who wanted to exploit the land for commercial gain did not share.

By the 1840s and 1850s, homesteaders crossing overland began to encounter large numbers of Native Americans. In Iowa and Kansas, homesteaders came upon Pawnees and Winnebagos. The Sioux predominated in the Great Plains and Minnesota, while the Cheyenne tribes made their homes in Wyoming, Montana, Colorado, and Kansas. Apache tribes inhabited the dry, arid desert lands of Texas, and both Apaches and Pueblo tribes lived in New Mexico. Farther west, the Nez Pierces populated the Blue Mountains of Oregon.

…Native Americans and settlers engaged in bloody conflicts, and innocent people on both sides were massacred. As white settlers advanced, claiming Indian tribal lands as their own and breaking the terms of the treaties they had signed, Native Americans tried to defend their land. In the 1850s, Pacific Northwestern tribes rose up to defend their homes, and in Minnesota the Sioux fought mightily against oncoming settlers. Cheyenne and Apache tribes in Colorado raided settlements to drive homesteaders away. In Apache tribes, some women joined their men on the battleground, while others served as messengers and emissaries between Apache warriors and U.S. military officers.

Native American women shared their brethren’s contempt for the way that white settlers plundered the land and mocked their centuries-old traditions. And just as white women feared assault by Native American men, Indian women had far greater reason to fear white men, who freely raped them or forced them into marriages. Armed conflict, disease, famine, and forced resettlement gradually destroyed the communal, agrarian way of life that Native Americans had known for centuries. The Promised Land of opportunity to which homesteaders flocked--the land that Native Americans had cultivated and venerated for so long--became a trail of tears watered by the bloodshed and anguish of native peoples drive from their homeland.

…In 1840, 84,000 immigrants entered the United States. Ten years later, in 1850, 369,000 immigrants came to America. Between 1840 and 1860, approximately 4.2 million newcomers journeyed to the United States. About 40 percent of them were Irish refugees escaping a devastating famine in Ireland. For years, potatoes had been the staple food of the Irish. But in 1845, a terrible blight wiped out Ireland's potato crop. Millions of people went hungry or lost their chief occupation--potato farming. Between 1847 and 1854, the worst years of the famine, more than 1.25 million people fled Ireland to the United States, hoping to find work. Many of the Irish immigrants were single young women forced to support themselves. Immigrants from Germany, Norway, Sweden, Scotland, Wales, and England also came to the United States.

Most immigrants came over simply to make more money. Many, such as the Irish, remained in this country, but other immigrants stayed long enough to earn a substantial amount of money and then returned to their homelands. Most immigrants settled in towns and cities, especially New York and Boston. But some journeyed to the West to start a farm or small business. Colonies of German immigrants headed for Texas in the 1840s, while Swedes and Norwegians settled in large numbers in Minnesota, Iowa, North and South Dakota, Wisconsin, and Nebraska. Except for the Irish, who for the most part avoided rural life and settled in industrial towns and cities in the North and Midwest, immigrants from other ethnic backgrounds fanned across the American landscape, as far west as California and Oregon. Wherever they settled, in cities or out on the frontier, they sought out family, friends, and other newcomers from back home. They wanted to live among their own.”

- Harriet Sigerman, “‘The ‘El Dorado’ of Our Hopes’: Journeys to New Places.” in An Unfinished Battle: American Women, 1848-1865

[eazy-group]

Turn Notifications Off and ‘Forest Mode’ on for National Forest Week

New Post has been published on https://eazycamping.net/turn-notifications-off-and-forest-mode-on-for-national-forest-week/

Turn Notifications Off and ‘Forest Mode’ on for National Forest Week

National Parks get a lot of love, but it was in a national forest that I first played “fairies” around our campsite with my two kids, now a classic we play every trip. It was in a national forest that my son practiced walking up and down a slope covered in pine needles at just over a year old and my daughter learned to balance her way across an entire log (more challenging than a balance beam at the gym). 

In national forests, my family has splashed in lakes and creeks, spent nights under the stars, and gazed at the moon through our telescope. We’re just one family among many thousands that has made memories in these special places. This National Forest Week, let’s celebrate just how important national forests and grasslands are to millions of Americans. 

Credit Sommer Merrill / 500px via Getty Images

Why National Forests Matter

According to the National Forest Foundation (NFF), national forests and grasslands encompass 193 million acres of wildlands across the United States. 

This includes:

More than 9,000 miles of scenic byways to drive

Almost 150,000 miles of trails to hike

More than 4,400 miles of wild and scenic rivers to float

At least 5,100 campgrounds to pitch a tent

328 natural pools to swim in

The foundation’s president and CEO, Mary Mitsos, says: “These lands are the foundation of America’s outdoor recreation heritage and sustain our way of life. They provide water to millions of Americans in thousands of communities, clean our air, store carbon, and provide timber, minerals, oil and gas, and other resources for industry and communities.” 

Managed by the USDA Forest Service, national forests and grasslands host more than 170 million visits each year, and Mitsos says this pumps $13.5 billion into the U.S. economy annually, sustaining nearly 223,000 jobs in gateway communities.

What’s more, national forests and grasslands are home to important ecosystems, thousands of plant species, and wildlife—including everything from elk and bears to trout and ducks.

Credit Luís Henrique Boucault via Getty Images

Switch on ‘Forest Mode’ and Get Involved

This year, the theme for National Forest Week is “Forest Mode.” Mitsos says: “This year’s theme of ‘Forest Mode’ invites the public to switch their digital notifications off and switch ‘Forest Mode’ on. Whether this means taking a quiet morning hike before work, a thrilling whitewater rafting adventure, or telling stories by the campfire after a day spent outside with friends, the NFF encourages recreators to experience these moments in a forest nearby while recreating responsibly.” 

In addition to stepping into your favorite forest, here are four ways to get involved and support national forests and grasslands during this National Forest Week:

Participate in the National Forest Week Photo Contest

Submit your favorite photo of a national forest for the chance to win one of these outdoor-themed prizes, including gear, an America the Beautiful Pass, gift cards for adventure tour companies, and cool swag. There are three categories—landscape, recreation, and youth photography—and the deadline to enter is midnight (MT) on July 16, 2023.

Credit NFF

Donate to a Treasured Landscape 

Donations to the Treasured Landscapes, Unforgettable Experiences program helps improve wildlife habitats and recreation opportunities. Past projects have included restoring two rivers in central Oregon and enhancing a critical salmon habitat in Alaska. 

Plant a tree 

The NFF is on a quest to plant and grow 50 million trees in national forests by the end of 2025 (they’ve already planted over 29 million). You can help them reach this goal by donating $1 to the cause.

Join the conversation

Join the NFF live on Twitter tonight, Wednesday, July 12, 2023, at 9 PM ET / 6 PM PT for a conversation about national forests and their importance.

Why do national forests matter to you? Tell us in the comments.

Source

[pcttrailsidereader]

Deep Connections on Oregon's Skyline Trail

This is the final installment of a Father and daughter's quest to re-discover the Oregon Skyline Trail that became part of the Pacific Crest Trail. This story was written by Ian McCluskey at Oregon Public Broadcasting (OPB).

The modern world closes in

Following World War II, the Forest Service shifted its focus from recreational trails to harvesting timber to meet the lumber demands of the post-war boom. Trail management changed as large-scale logging became a higher priority for the agency. The Forest Service built roads to access the harvest sites, and in some areas cut over the Skyline.

In 1968, the PCT incorporated much of the Skyline to create the 2,650-mile trail that is internationally known today.

“After a while, the Skyline just faded away,” Bob said. “People weren’t using it. It was obsolete.”

When Bob looks at the old maps, he sees how the forest once was — the forest he wishes he could still find. The maps from the 1920s and ‘30s show a vast wilderness, with small dotted lines that were once trails, running up river drainages, along spiny ridgelines, and connecting the far-flung peaks. On the old maps, the peaks are dotted where fire lookout towers stood and where lone sentinels once kept watch. There were once 80 iconic lookout towers on Mt Hood National Forest. Today, only five remain.

Scattered across the national forest were one-room cabins called “guard stations,” where backcountry rangers would be posted. Bob and Eva stop the VW Bus to explore a log cabin, built in 1910 as a guard station. It is one of the only two remaining in the forest.

As they approach, Bob notices that the cabin’s front door has been left ajar. “See if anybody’s home?” Bob jokes.

“I doubt it,” says Eva.

The door hinges creak when they push it open.

The cabin is empty, except for a rusted barrel stove with a broken stove pipe, some trash previous visitors have left, and walls and beams covered in graffiti.

“There’s a lot of neglect and that’s the frustrating thing about these places,” Bob said. “I’m not here to scold people. I think people are just so disconnected these days, they don’t realize the rich history that was here.”

As Bob latches the door to leave, he says with a deep sigh, “Yeah, it’s seen better days.”

The cabin faces a large meadow. Bob and Eva start walking, in no particular direction, with no particular purpose, other than to explore.

In Bob’s imagination, he sees the former ranger’s horse and pack mule that would have grazed back then. He tries to imagine the feeling of remoteness, knowing that it would have taken someone several days to ride here.

“I think that it’s definitely interesting how he sees the world and sees the wilderness as well,” Eva said. “I think that he himself wishes he was a ranger in the ‘20s. I think that’s part of the reason why he loves it so much.”

Built in 1910, this cabin is one of only two historic Forest Service guard stations left on the Mt. Hood National Forest

Kevin Freeny / OPB

Made to connect

After reaching the center of the meadow, Bob and Eva begin heading toward its far end. There’s no trail here to follow. The tall grass brushes their shins as they push forward.

When they first started the search for the Skyline, they’d stay out for weeks at a time. This trip Eva has to get back to her summer job at a gelato shop. And, Bob suspects, she misses her boyfriend.

They walk in silence across the tall grass toward the edge of the forest.

“The physical part of the trail isn’t what matters — it’s just a strip of dirt,” Eva said. “But I think what makes it really significant is knowing that just some dirt has the power to hold so much history and so many lives going down that experiencing the woods, experiencing just being there.”

Bob has enough food packed in the VW bus for another couple of nights. He’d gladly stay longer with Eva. It’s the end of summer, the last trip of the season, and perhaps the last on their quest to rediscover the lost Skyline.

When Bob first learned of the Skyline, Eva was in middle school; she’s now leaving Oregon for college.

“She’s going to go off to college and she’s going to have her own life,” Bob said. “Sure we’ll camp, but our roles will change, and yeah….” He pauses and looks down for a moment and swallows. “I’m going to miss her a lot.”

They reach the edge of the meadow. Ahead of them the forest stretches as far as the eye can see, and somewhere in the shadows are blazes in tree trunks, and log cabins silently collapsing, reclaimed by the woods.

They could go on and find more. There is always more. But for now, it is time to turn back. Jobs and school and lowland duties await.

Bob Koscik and his daughter Eva Berk discover hidden meadows deep in the Mt. Hood National Forest as they search for the forgotten Skyline Trail.

Kevin Freeny / OPB

[menarddg]

Biketown // Mountain Bikers, Unlikely Partnerships & The Communities They've Created from Freehub Magazine on Vimeo.

Biketown is a story of mountain bikers, unlikely partnerships and the communities they create.

Learn more and get involved at FreehubMag.com/Biketown

Enter the Biketown Sweepstakes and support the International Mountain Bicycling Association at go.rallyup.com/biketown/

Struggling to find their seat at the table, mountain bikers have had to form unlikely partnerships in their fight to ride. Little did they know they were actually helping transform the identity of their communities. Specialized and Soil Searching present Biketown, a film by Freehub magazine.

Mountain bikers have a long-standing tradition of working with private property owners, land managers and governments, from the local to federal level. Often, these relationships are driven by a dedicated and passionate group of mountain bikers, trailbuilders and advocates, despite a sometimes turbulent and confrontational past. Biketown takes a deep dive into recreational trail development in Chisholm, Minnesota, Bellingham, Washington, Snowshoe, West Virginia and Pacific City, Oregon to explore themes at the heart of the current mountain bike movement—whether that be cooperation between the timber industry and a mountain bike community, federal forest managers and trailbuilders or advocacy organizations and tourism boards.

This project would not be possible without partnerships and a huge collective effort. Thank you to the community leaders, families, trailbuilders, dreamers, athletes, designers, brands, mentors, advocates, stewards, volunteers and everyday riders who helped make Biketown possible. We are grateful for strong brand partner support and amazing product donations—the proceeds of which will directly impact the future of mountain biking.

Thanks to our partners:

Specialized Bicycles: specialized.com Maxxis Tires: maxxis.com 10 Barrel Brewing Co.: 10barrel.com IMBA: imba.com Ride Concepts: rideconcepts.com Portside productions: portsidepro.com City of Bellingham: cob.org Pocahontas County, WV: pocahontascountywv.com

[televisedbirdwatching]

Invasive Species, Mountain Bikes, and the Spirit of Wilderness

It’s a sunny fall morning in Oregon and I’m headed to Rocky Point to ride my bike. Two years ago, our local mountain bike advocacy group, NWTA, negotiated member access to these 3,000 acres of timber land owned and logged by Weyerhaeuser. All the trails here are built and maintained by volunteers, so long as they stay out of the logging company’s way. From the parking lot, I cruise down a logging road, past a gate, and begin pedaling uphill on some singletrack, a trail called Tres Amigos. It’s a cool and shady north-facing slope, and I’m pedaling past ferns and big western redcedars on tacky, clay-filled soil. I have plans to ride a big loop where I’ll connect little sections of singletrack using the network of logging roads. I get to the top of the ridge and the other side is all a big clear-cut, full of tan, dry grasses and conical grey slash-piles. I turn south and start onto a trail called Seral Stage, named after a forestry term that describes the intermediate stages of vegetation succession following a clear-cut.

Clearcut, Seral Stages.

Many years ago in college, I wrote a paper for an environmental sociology course about mountain biking in wilderness areas. At the time, there was a national policy debate happening about whether or not mountain bikes could be allowed access to federally-designated wilderness areas. When the Wilderness Act of 1964 established this land designation, it specified that only “primitive” activities would be allowed, such as hunting, fishing, camping, and hiking, in order to provide a refuge from an increasingly mechanized and technological world. It seems to me that the debate about what activities are sufficiently primitive enough to be permitted has raged since the act’s passage. Consider the difference between traditional recurve bows versus compound bows and modern rifles with scopes. Are skis and bindings fundamentally more ‘technological’ objects than snowshoes? Others argued that we should categorize appropriate uses by their lasting impact on the land rather than by their “primitivity,” by which impact-heavy cattle ranching should be excluded but leave-no-trace on-trail mountain biking should be allowed.

During my research I came across this 2014 article by George Wuerthner, which has stuck with me ever since. In it, he argues that while mountain biking, he is more ‘focused on the trail and sense of movement’ than he is ‘aware and in tune with his surroundings.’ In other words, the setting of his mountain biking experience is irrelevant, since he’s focused on the jumps, whoops, berms, and other man-made features of the trail. As such, clearcuts and other environmental wastelands are great and appropriate canvases for the mountain biking experience- wide open spaces to be shredded upon by thrill-seeking riders. I think the reason Wuerthner’s article has stuck with me is that I just really disagree with him. I’ve ridden further down the trail and I see a little Pacific Garter snake sunning itselfl. I stop and let him slither back under the cover of a fern, and pedal on. Around the next corner, the trail is covered in deer poop. Next to me, I see a little area with trampled mats of grasses, probably the sleeping quarters of whichever hooved ruminant pooped on the singletrack. I like learning how to identify the flora and fauna in the natural lands I get to visit, and I like learning the names of geological features and the story of their deep-time history. These things make me feel a little closer to the world around me, and I think the search for this feeling is a big part of what inspires me to throw my bike on the truck and go pedal into the woods.

Deer Poop.

The next trail I’m riding is called Ill-Tempered Gnome. I pedal up and get ready for the descent. One of the things that makes mountain biking in Oregon so great is the high clay content in the soil, which allows for the construction of berms, jumps, and other shaped-dirt features that bake in the summer sun and hold their shape through the fall. My tires leave the ground a few times and there’s a satisfying feeling of compression as I sink into the bermed corners. I think to myself that Wuerthner might be right, at least a little. I just disagree that “shredding” and “appreciating nature” are fundamentally incompatible. Can’t we do both?

Ill-Tempered Gnome.

At the end of the trail I turn on to Powerline. The trail marker sits in an overgrown and dried out patch of canada thistle, a plant whose shape is burned into my brain permanently. In the summer of 2015, I worked in invasive species management, spraying canada thistles and their cousins with pesticides like Tordon, 24-D, and Glyphosate. Spending 40 hours a week looking for invasive plants, I developed a pretty good eye for them.

Powerline trail and canada thistle seed tufts.

This logging land is full of invasive species. I see canada thistle, hoary cress, himalayan blackberry, bull thistle, and pokeberry. Pokeberry is so invasive that you’re not allowed to dispose of the flowers or berries in Portland-area compost bins, they must go to the landfill. Logging operations are perfect vectors for invasive species. Seeds hitchhike on logging machinery, which also compacts the clay soils, making it harder for native plants to root down. Clear cutting deprives local plants of the shady canopy they depend on while also priming the ecosystem for sun-loving invasives to thrive. (photo pokeberry)

I recently read the New Wild by Fred Pearce, a book that argues that we ought to re-frame the way we think of invasive species. His book is based on case studies from all around the world, and a sort of “yeah, but” argumentative strategy that I find thought provoking but not ultimately compelling.

For example, he talks about an invasive mediterranean sea grass, where the “yeah, but” relies on the fact that ocean borders are made-up concepts. Caulerpa taxifolia is native to tropical seas, but was accidentally introduced to the mediterranean, where it took over and established a monoculture hostile to the local grasses that fish depended on. Pearce asks us to wonder if it makes a difference whether the sea grass could have just floated in ‘naturally’ from some other ocean, and whether or not we would think differently about it if we assumed it was spread by human activity. It’s a useful intuition pump that asks us to think critically about how and why we maintain a dualism between “human-caused” and “natural,” but I’m not sure this does anything to convince me that invasive species are any less of a problem. Pearce also asks us to consider thinking of invasive species in terms of the ecosystem services they provide, instead of defining them by story of their arrival. One argument used by native plant advocates is that dense colonies of roots help to bind the soil, keeping it locked down on steep hillsides, preventing watersheds from accumulating sediment and pesticides. That’s true, but I’m sympathetic to Pearce’s argument that in the case of a clearcut, the canada thistle we’re seeing is performing the same ecosystem service. Part of what makes canada thistle so difficult to eradicate is its creeping rhizomous root system that forms a dense mat underground. Would this not also make it an excellent plant for soil retention? Pearce’s “yeah, but” here is that maybe we shouldn’t care so much about which plant is performing an ecosystem service, but instead that the ecosystem service is being performed at all.

Baby canada thistles growing next to bulldozer teethmarks.

I ride my bike on Highline and Bobs Yer Uncle, enjoying a quick stop at a marshy pond full of birch trees and the sound of chirping birds. I descend some more and I’m at the bottom of the valley, looking up at the ridge I’ll have to climb up and over in order to get back to the car. I park my bike and sit for a minute to watch chipmunks and squirrels play around on the largest timber slash pile I’ve seen. In early spring, this valley is raucous with birdsong. There are so many songbirds eating bugs, grasshoppers hopping, squirrels eating snacks and skittering around inside slash piles it creates an audible din. These clearcuts are very alive and they seem to support thriving and vibrant populations. Maybe we don’t give animals enough credit for their adaptability to sudden changes like clearcutting. But then I remember learning about Fender’s Blue Butterfly, whose populations are threatened in Oregon because they evolved to depend on a type of berry that can no longer grow due to invasives. I also remember learning that even though I see lots of birds here, they are most likely european sparrows that have learned to build nests in the himalayan blackberries and who have outcompeted the smaller populations of native songbirds.

Climbing up The Great Escape back towards my car, all I can think about is how everything in environmental philosophy is messy. Is it ok if skiers, snowboarders, and mountain bikers are mere thrill-seekers, ignoring any conservationist thoughts in pursuit of adrenaline? Does someone on an electric assist mountain bike experience the same degree of “wilderness experience” that someone on an entirely human-powered bike does? Would I rather this clear cut be a native plant restoration project that requires hundreds of hours of hands-on human maintenance to ensure that only native plants grow back? Or should I instead be glad to see these little canada thistles acting as first movers and terraformers, helping keep the soil from running into the Columbia river?

When I get back to my car, I notice a display board at the trailhead. The sign was put up by the Portland Water Bureau, East Multnomah Soil and Water Conservation District, NWTA, and Western Invasives Network. The sign explains how to identify common invasive plants and provides a little brushing station so that trail users will clean their shoes on their way in and out of the area.

Stop weeds station. I drive back to the city tossing these questions around, truck tires humming on the pavement, legs tired, trying not to think about another week of work, indoors, staring at a screen.

[architectnews]

Volkan Alkanoglu designs cedar bridge to resemble a driftwood branch

Portland designer Volkan Alkanoglu has spanned a creek in Fort Worth, Texas, with a sculptural timber bridge named Drift.

The timber and steel bridge was built over a gully in the city's South Hills residential area to form a connection between two parks and communities along the Trinity River Trail system.

The Drift bridge was commissioned by Fort Worth Public Art

With no route across the waterway for seven blocks, the Fort Worth Public Art programme commissioned Alkanoglu to design a structure that could act as both infrastructure and sculpture.

His response to the brief was a bridge that used sustainable materials and aimed to have minimal impact on the site while keeping within the $375,000 (£270,000) budget.

The pedestrian bridge spans a creek, connecting a trail and two neighbourhoods

The design was informed by the creek's seasonal transformation from a flowing stream to a dry, driftwood-filled basin.

Another point of reference was the innovative plywood leg splint designed by Ray and Charles Eames for soldiers wounded in the second world war, which dates back to the same era as the neighbourhood's midcentury houses.

Benches and railings are integrated into the curved wooden form

Originally intended to be made entirely of cross-laminated timber (CLT), but constrained by the budget, the final bridge structure was built around a steel armature clad in CNC- and flip-milled planks of Spanish cedar.

"Each plank was custom cut, then stack-laminated into one large, volumetric, undulating form," said the studio.

The bridge was constructed off-site and craned into place in one piece

"In this way, the bridge could be fabricated off-site, transported to the location by an oversize truck as one piece and lifted into place with a crane," explained Alkanoglu, who added that installation took no longer than a couple of hours.

Measuring 62 feet (19 metres) long, the bridge is reminiscent of a hollowed log or canoe.

Railings and benches are embedded along the length of its curved sides, allowing pedestrians to pause and take in the scenery.

The wooden form is balanced on piers, which act as foundations on either bank and include a rip-rap drainage system to minimise the structure's footprint.

Designer Volkan Alkanoglu referenced shipbuilding techniques to create the sculptural form. Photo by Jennifer Boomer

"While stitching the urban neighborhood fabric back together, Drift also offers social and ecological opportunities for the local community through the use of sustainable principles, which can alter our collective understanding of the built environment," added the designer.

Drift is the first infrastructure project by Alkanoglu, who runs his studio VA Design out of Portland, Oregon.

Foundations and drainage on either bank are designed to have a minimal footprint. Photo by Jennifer Boomer

He describes the bridge as an example of "plug-and-play urbanism", an "economically feasible way to produce mid-scale infrastructure offsite and deliver it to its urban context".

Alkanoglu's previous work includes a number of sculptural interventions intended to transform the built environment through inventive material explorations.

The bridge is an example of what Alkanoglu describes as "plug-and-play urbanism". Photo by Jennifer Boomer

As a typology, the pedestrian bridge has allowed many architects and designers to experiment with unusual shapes and materials.

A crossing that was 3D-printed in stainless steel recently opened in Amsterdam while students in California completed a bridge with the help of industrial robotic arms earlier this year.

The photography is by Peter Molick unless stated otherwise.

Project credits:

Design: Volkan Alkanoglu Client: City of Fort Worth, Fort Worth Public Art Program Public art manager: Anne Allen Fabrication: Ignition Arts, Brownsmith Studios Structural engineering: CMID Engineers Geotechnical engineering: Alpha Testing Material testing: Simpson, Gumpertz & Heger Concept engineering: AKT II

The post Volkan Alkanoglu designs cedar bridge to resemble a driftwood branch appeared first on Dezeen.

[neworegoncoastcamping-blog]

Oregon Coast Camping: Free Or Nearly Free Spots

Just north of Bandon, Oregon, Bullards Beach State Park provides up RV camping by the ocean with scenic views of the historic Coquille River Lighthouse. Nestled among shore pines, guests can explore the Coquille River Lighthouse, the mouth of the river, and the shoreline. The lighthouse itself is open to visitors daily for guests to study about the building and the area.

A small campground located just north of Tillcum Beach Campground, this area has 42 tent sites and two yurts with loads of ocean views close by. A beautiful state park situated simply south of Oregon Coast Camping area with 23 tent websites, two rustic yurts, two rustic log cabins, and 6 deluxe yurts. This campground is generally a well-kept secret with Umpqua River Lighthouse, which has an adjoining museum and is managed by the Douglas County Parks Department, nearby. Located two miles north of Bandon-by-the-sea, this state park has lots to see and do with nearby Coquille River Lighthouse and Bandon Marsh National Wildlife Refuge. The park has 13 yurts and no tent websites, unfortunately, however does sport a horse camp with eight primitive websites. The close by city of Bandon, the "Cranberry Capitol of the World," has shops, galleries, and eating places available.

We had a nice time and this activity was particularly enjoyed by our teenage daughter. My first thought is that no matter how a lot time you determine to spend on the Oregon coast, it won't be sufficient. The seashores are all beautiful and the residents are friendly and welcoming.

On the southern half, when such amenities are unavailable, replenish with freshwater from streams and rivers. Study the tide tables so you understand what to expect on long stretches of seashore. Officially, the Oregon Coast Trail is 382 miles lengthy, but the precise distance varies depending on the way you select to hike it.

Further south from right here, much more tenting with breathtaking views could be found, making this a fantastic first night’s stop on a trip down the Oregon Coast. Cape Lookout provides easy accessibility to the seaside and a perfect view of the ocean. If you love to hike, you will find eight miles of mountaineering and walking trails via a lush old-growth forest. The campground also offers 13 yurts, six deluxe cabins, 2 group tent tenting sites, sizzling showers and bogs, and one electrical website with water. Our final pick for the Oregon Coast is the Umpqua Lighthouse State Park, situated in the Central Oregon Coast. This is a smaller campground, featuring solely 17 websites with hookups; eight are full hookups and 9 are electrical and water only. [newline]It’s nonetheless got plenty of features that make it a fantastic possibility for that winter camping journey you’ve been dreaming of.

South Jetty Rv & Tenting Resort

The nostalgic 1920’s-era Promenade is perfect for strolling or biking along the beach and the seaside itself is extensive and clean and ideal for taking part in or relaxing. Harris Beach State Park has everything you’ll need, apart from laundry. Amenities include clear shower and flush bogs, firewood on the market, onsite camp host, playground, dump station. And of course, the best amenity of all, the location right on the coast!

Ask An Rv Pro: 10 Tenting Tips That May Remodel Your Travels 311534

Instead, we ventured on to Cape Perpetua Scenic Area and spent at least an hour making an attempt to seize the perfect shot of the Spouting Horn and Thor’s Well. Tillamook is house to the long-lasting Tillamook Cheese Factory where you'll find a way to watch the production of a few of the one hundred seventy,000 kilos of cheese that they produce day by day. It’s additionally blessed with five rivers, five bays and of course the Pacific Ocean so it’s an excellent spot for water activities. About six miles north of Port Orford on the South Oregon Coast. Large, first-come, first-served campsites tucked into the trees; cabins, group and horse camps additionally out there by reservation.

Nestled close to a river, with straightforward accessibility to the path of the autumn. The coastal campground lies a pair miles south of the place the Alsea River meets the Pacific Ocean. The campground gives a selection of single-family campsites, a few which have each electrical and water hookups. The campground gives a wonderful location for whale watching. Most campsites have beachfront views, and sunsets are to not be missed. Many Campendium guests rave about how clean the park is and the natural beauty you can find here while tenting on the Oregon coast.

Devil’s Lake State Recreation area provides RV and tent tenting, and is lower than a half day’s drive north of Beverly Beach. With 28 full hook-ups and 54 tent sites, you can normally discover the proper spot here in the trees but be ready for crowds. This is the one OR campground positioned in a city, Lincoln City to be specific. Summer activity includes boat leases and day use on the lake. Like nearly all Oregon tenting, yurts are also available for an inexpensive payment. Beverly Beach is five miles north of the city of Newport, and can be a state park.

Pacific

Campsites are amongst sparse bushes ¼-mile inland from a sandy seashore at the mouth of the Umpqua River. Campsites inland amongst bushes, but solely a brief walk from Sunset Bay. Nearby Shore Acres and Cape Arago state parks are a short drive away.

The site is along a big creek with mountaineering trails to Alsea and Green Peak falls. There’s a swimming gap, outhouses, and an attractive landscape filled with ferns and bushes. This web site provides a more primitive camping experience, excellent for the camper on the lookout for a chance to find a little bit of solitude and enjoy nature. A chance to camp at Green Mountain is value braving the tough access road.

At the tip of a enjoyable day exploring and wandering, retire to your Oregon vacation rentals on the coast, excellent for watching the sundown, and rely the celebrities. Come expertise a seaside glamping journey, and guide your individual beach camping! These are simply five of the most effective campgrounds situated alongside the Oregon Coast.

If you need an much more spectacular show, go at sunrise or sundown as well and get a shot that can shock even the most skilled of photographers. After heading again to camp from the Circles in the sand appearance, we were enjoying a lazy and euphoric evening. Luckily our canines were around, the rasciliy raccoon tripped over my tent stake, and triggered Zoey into a barking frenzy. Zoey is my canine that is half Cocker Spaniel, part poodle and definitely likes to chase animals of any type. This group was started by a person named Denny, who in an effort to search out that inner peace, you started to attract in the sand.

The answer is to use designated Oregon coast camping when you don’t wish to hunt down the uncommon coastal tenting to stake your territory with your outside recliner chair or tent. Campsites are on a grassy space with some timber, near Floras Lake. A quick trail leads previous the lake to dunes and a long, sandy seaside.

Oregons 12 Greatest Tenting Locations

We went at low tide later in the evening and it looks like folks had already picked the beach for the whole sand dollars. The Bigelow Hot Springs was solely a 0.1-mile trek in if that. Make certain you include water shoes because the rocks usually are not pleasant on bare ft.

For a whole listing of coastal cities in Oregon go to Visit the Oregon Coast website. This park is positioned on the south finish of town in Florence, OR, and is a superb place to name home while you explore the central Oregon coast. Bring your seashore bag and loosen up at Cape Cove Beach on the south side of Heceta Head after your hike. This rocky beach is a great place to watch sea birds and explore tide pools. Heceta Head is house to a lighthouse on the Oregon coast, is thirteen miles north of Florence, and thirteen miles south of Yachats.

With 33 campsites, Jones Creek is a superb spot to cool off from the summer season heat. With swimming holes at every turn, plenty of shaded campsites, and trails to explore at the Tillamook Forestry Center, there's greater than enough to fill a lazy weekend. The nearby Wilson River offers extra swimming and fishing opportunities. On the larger side,Nehalem Bay State Parkoffers a various vary of actions for all visitors. From crabbing to horseback using on the beach, the chances really feel countless. Quite busy through the warm summer months, reservations are really helpful here.

We found this spot listed on UltimateCampgrounds but we stopped in at the BLM workplace inCoos Bay to get the inside track on the world. They did warn us we wouldn’t be the only campers on the market and once we arrived, we understood what they had been getting at. Southern Oregon Coast Camping  near Gold Beach Oregon on Hwy 101 just 37 miles North of the California Boarder close to the Rogue River. In northern California, many of the public campgrounds are within the redwoods they usually refill quickly, so reservations are required during peak months and ought to be made well in advance. If you wish to combine it up, try the close by Yaquina Bay Lighthouse or the Oregon Coast Aquarium.

I hope this text on Free or practically free tenting Oregon coast was value studying. A novel kids’ playground is in fashion with locals in addition to campers. Guests take pleasure in strolling on the seashore and fishing within the surf. Seashore guests have to be cautious of sneaker waves and harmful rip currents. The close-by Sand Lake Estuary offers fishing, swimming, crabbing, kayaking, climbing, and wildlife viewing. Kayak excursions are equipped 7 miles south on Beaver Creek throughout July by the labor-day weekend.

After coming again house we realized we have been zero.25 miles away from where it really was. I don't imagine that path is just 2.5 miles although personally, my Fitbit said I had gone 3.92 miles by the time we rotated. We have been extremely disappointed about missing this feature as this can be a very fashionable trail. Be positive you explore the Tamolitch Blue Pool Trail on Google Maps and drop the little man to see what it looks like on a traditional day. There are a number of areas that appear to be the right spot, however alas aren't any. 1- Continue along the path that can convey you to a total of 10 totally different Waterfalls, every with its own distinctive look.

[oregon-coast-camping]

For The Oregon Coast Camping Fall Is One Of The Best Time

The county parks are inexpensive then state parks. They simply re-did the camping spots so you have a good, solid place to park find out here. In reality simply around miles away from the coast you’re prone to find cheaper NFS sites in addition to more availability at State Parks. It does get pricy, oceanside camping, and crowded on weekends for certain.

Fall on the coast just isn't the time to put your rig in mothballs for the winter, but rather to get on the market and luxuriate in some great benefits of the season. Take a side journey by way of the formal gardens of the one-time property of timber baron Louis Simpson at Shore Acres State Park. Warmer-than-common temperatures, an eclectic unfold of hikes and a buffer from the breeze make Humbug a pleasing, versatile outdoor vacation spot. Don't miss the superb ocean motion between Cook's Chasm and Devils Churn. Not sure where you plan to remain in Eureka, however we have stayed at Mad River RV Park simply north in Arcata. If there is anyone in your loved ones who enjoys horseback riding, I can fortunately advocate the beach rides out there at C&M Stables near Florence.

Six campsites and three yurts are accessible to campers with disabilities. 7 sites and 1 cabin are accessible to campers with disabilities. The northern-most redwood grove within the U.S. could be found on the end of the Riverview Trail by crossing the North Bank Road and climbing the 1-mile U.S. We will separate into 2 areas these accessed by I-5 these accessed Hwy a hundred and one accessible.

After leaving Tillamook, you will drive another ninety minutes south before reaching the town of Newport. Newport, Oregon, is among the most populated towns on the Oregon coast, so you'll want to replenish on supplies, groceries, and gasoline when you are right here. Each is full of alternative for a wide range of outdoor actions, such as climbing, wildlife viewing, watersports, and extra. We spend an enormous amount of time tenting and glamping in order that we are able to train you everything we learn.

It has over 250 private websites spaced out on eight loops in the woods, many along Spencer Creek. There are full hookup websites , water/electric websites including pull-throughs, over a hundred tent websites, and yurts obtainable. On the Northern Coast, this beautiful park is nestled between Nehalem Bay and the Pacific Ocean on a four mile long sand spit. The campground has level RV websites, water/electric hookups, bogs, showers, and a dump station. It’s also a brief drive to the local shops and restaurants in Manzanita. Camping with a tent is possible, however you’d be better off towing your camper alongside.

During a keep here, make sure to visit the Military Museum and the ancient stays of the Peter Iredale shipwreck that lies on the seaside. The Oregon Coast camping is full of jaw-dropping vistas and places to explore. It is hardly stunning that there are also some nice campgrounds to be discovered along the shoreline, some rustic and a few with each amenity that you could dream of.

Cold Water Cove Campground is situated in the Willamette National Forest. This well-liked Oregon campground features views of the attractive turquoise colored Clear Lake and ancient lava fields. Nearby are the Three Sisters Mountain and Mt. Washington.

Bullards Beach additionally has a horse camp with 8 primitive sites arrange for your horses. Located just off of the 101 on twelfth Ave. in Seaside is this RV Resort by Thousand Trails. Seaside RV Resort is situated about 1.5 miles from the Promenade, seashore, and downtown Seaside. If you brought your bike along, it’s an easy ride to and from town, and doubtless quicker than driving on a busy weekend!

Your lakeside keep is benefitted by its instant proximity to awesome hiking trails and ocean beaches. Located at the bottom of a secluded sand spit, you can see easy access to mountaineering on Cape Lookout and a number of the finest trails on the coast. Located proper on the mouth of the Coquille River, this vast park makes an superior place for anybody to stroll about. With eleven miles of trails for horse riding, climbing, and biking spanning across the park and 4 miles of beaches, you’ll by no means be at a loss for locations to explore. Enjoy the wondrous ocean or river views depending on which aspect of the park you visit.

What makes this place so nice is that it's near Astoria, so you'll be able to still get provides, even when you left one thing at home. Also popular is the nine-mile network of paved bicycle trails, and six-miles of climbing trails. Nearly the entire seashore areas in Oregon can be found for using horses, nonetheless,Oregon Parks and Recreation severely limits access.

Your Information To Sunriver: Summer Fun, Breweries, Cabins, Adventures And More

That’s why we created an inventory of the seven finest free camping spots in Oregon. We love tenting due to the quiet solitude that comes with it in a place that provokes meditation. Oregon is home to some of the most unbelievable places to visit within the Pacific Northwest.

We didn't have GPS, nor did our cell phones have service to let us know the place we have been. If you prefer to camp in an RV, boondocking in Oregon could be a easy—and enjoyable—method to hold prices down. Boondocking is typically outdoors of developed campsites, meaning there isn't a water or hookups obtainable. Parking in a single day in a parking zone corresponding to a Walmart is sometimes an possibility, however campers must get permission from the store supervisor before doing so. While state parks sometimes charge a charge to remain inside their grounds and make the most of tenting spots, a couple of groups are exempt from this charge.

While not totally free, this can be a nice possibility for folk already planning to check out the on line casino. For more data, name the casino or visit their web site. No matter where you select to remain, you'll be sure to come back back with nice footage and reminiscences of this incredible shoreline. One factor to remember is that the beachfront sites do not have water and electric hookups.

Hares Canyon Horse Camp

Besides RV and tent sites, in addition they have cabins for hire by the night, week or month. Robbin’s Nest RV Parkis situated simply south of Bandon on Highway 101. Its features include large RV sites, huge rig capability, cable TV, wi-fi, a clubhouse, restrooms with showers, laundry, and proximity to beaches. Iconic in type and memorable in design, nothing calls to the basic tenting expertise quite like an Airstream. A place to retreat after a day outside, they're good for stress-free moments and taking in the fantastic thing about our bay.

Most of the full facilities pack this little gem in the tough, together with restrooms, showers, RV hookups and much more. This guide to Oregon coast camping features all state, county and U.S. Forest Service campsites between Warrenton and Florence – some a hundred and eighty miles price. Discover and book tent camping, RV parks, cabins, treehouses, and glamping—all over the place from nationwide parks to blueberry farms. We've put together the definitive tenting information to the northern Oregon coast for finding just the right place to pitch a tent or park a trailer.

The seashores are all gorgeous and the residents are pleasant and welcoming. If you want to keep close to the Ocean let me suggest to you Beachside SP simply south of Waldport, or go for site #63. Site #63 has ocean on Passenger aspect and again side, the other three have ocean mainly to the back. We are scheduled to host there July and August of 2020. Instead, we ventured on to Cape Perpetua Scenic Area and spent no less than an hour making an attempt to seize the proper shot of the Spouting Horn and Thor’s Well.

Please empty your tub and fill it half full in order that the water will cool for the next bather. Bathhouse #2 is closed for security on account of utmost deterioration and decay. Sites are successfully separated and plentiful foliage presents good privateness between camps. A novel kids’ playground is in style with locals in addition to campers.

Part of the campground is located on the dunes where youngsters love to play within the sand, and the opposite half is situated on Carter Lake, good for fishing and boating. Campsites are nestled amongst shore pine, sitka spruce, Douglas fir and native rhododendron. Drinking water and flush bathrooms are available and each website has a campfire pit and picnic table. The Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area is a particular place.

[forsetti]

On The Myth of American Individualism

In light of people completely, and sometimes arrogantly, defying public health recommendations to address a pandemic in the name of “Freedom” and “American Individualism, I thought I'd repost this article I wrote in 2012.

Recently, New York Times resident hack pundit, David Brooks, wrote an article arguing that Republicans are the party that “celebrates work and inflames enterprise”.  The GOP come from a long lineage of hard working, God fearing individualists that can be traced back through American history from Mitt Romney to the first Pilgrim who stood, buckled shoed, atop Plymouth Rock. Here are his opening two paragraphs: “The American colonies were first settled by Protestant dissenters. These were people who refused to submit to the established religious authorities. They sought personal relationships with God. They moved to the frontier when life got too confining. They created an American creed, built, as the sociologist Seymour Martin Lipset put it, around liberty, individualism, equal opportunity, populism and laissez-faire.

This creed shaped America and evolved with the decades. Starting in the mid-20th century, there was a Southern and Western version of it, formed by ranching Republicans like Barry Goldwater, Ronald Reagan and George W. Bush. Their version drew on the traditional tenets: ordinary people are capable of greatness; individuals have the power to shape their destinies; they should be given maximum freedom to do so.”

For Brooks, America was built by hard working people who cowered from a smiting God, lived like Ted Kaczynski , didn’t accept handouts and loved the soft reach around from the Invisible Hand.  From this great tradition sprouted great men who were the salt of the earth, ordinary men who lived off the fruits of the sweat of their brow.  People like Mitt Romney and George W. Bush, two men who grew up in luxury, went to topflight prep schools and colleges, were able to walk into business with a long list of powerful, influential people already in their contact lists and didn’t fuck up and when they did, had other doors and opportunities open for them because of who they are and who they knew.  I highly doubt that John Q. Colonialist could get a government bailout to safe his business (Romney) or have one failed business after another yet have people willing to throw money and opportunities at you over and over again (Bush).  

On the claim that Republicans are the party of work and this tradition has been passed down from John Smith and Patrick Henry to Laura Ingalls Wilder and Belle Starr, I call “Bullshit!”  This country was discovered, settled, expanded, progressed and rose to the world’s greatest economic power because of the community, not the individual.  This love affair and worship of individualism in America is not based on its history or facts.  It is a complete myth.  A myth that has become a fundamental underlying principle of today’s Republican Party.  A myth, that Jim Jones-like devotion to has resulted in horrible, often progress stifling, policies.  It is an even more deeply rooted myth in conservative lore than Ronald Reagan being a tax cutting, small government, hard line hawk.

The first wave of immigrants that came to America came for economic, not religious reasons and they didn’t migrate to our shores to frolic in the Fountain of Laissez-Faire. They were employees, mostly indentured servants, of major trading companies who sent them here to harvest resources like timber and furs.  They were “company men”, not individuals who were looking to forge a new life by braving the elements or testing their mettle. The manner in which they worked and lived was communal.

The next wave of people coming to America was the religious immigrants.  For Brooks, this meant the hardworking, God fearing Protestants who sired America’s work ethic, loved the eight pound, six ounce baby Jesus and who planted the love and respect of individualism into the country’s psyche where it grew and flourished for three hundred plus years and can now be seen in the standard bearers for the Republican Party. Unfortunately, “There goes another wonderful theory about to be brutally murdered by a gang of facts.” (author unknown).

There certainly were groups of very devoutly religious people who came to America during this time. However, what Brooks conveniently omits are the multitude of the other groups that also made their way across the Atlantic to avoid the religious persecutions and heavy handed dogma in Europe. Atheists, Deists, Agnostics, etc., left Europe for the New World because of the religious environment in Europe.  Being part of the religious wave didn’t mean you were religious, it meant you left because of religion.  There were just as many, if not more, non-religious, non-fundamentalist immigrants to America during this period than the “Forebears of Freedom and Republican/American Greatness” as Brooks would have it.  This group played as much a role in America’s formation as a country and culture, if not more, than the Puritans or Quakers.  Some of the non-religious people who played a bit part in the formation of America include: Thomas Paine, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, Benjamin Franklin, Adam Smith…

The fundamentally religious in early American history was not the dominant group and it was not individualists.  They in fact were the opposite.  They were communal socialists.  In order to afford ship passage to America they often pooled their money together to ensure they could travel as a group. They formed settlements where they helped build each other’s homes, businesses and defenses.  They had community storages and would mete out food and other resources as necessary.  They didn’t cut off someone who was sick.  Instead they would get together and, as a group, figure out the best way to address this or any other problem. What they didn’t do is as they were ascending the gangplank of the Mayflower wave to each other and say “Good luck!  Maybe I’ll see you around.”  They stayed together, worked together and helped each other.  They didn’t abandon the sick and weak or withhold food or shelter.  If you want to see the modern day version and descendants of the early religious settlers to America, visit the Amish community in Ontario Ohio or Lancaster Pennsylvania.  The Amish, Mennonites and similar groups have been the ones to continue the traditions of the early settlers.  One word that is never used in describing these groups or their members is ‘individualism’.

Not to mention that there were a lot of other settlers in the early America who were not the Protestant, white New Englanders yet had just as much impact on society and culture then and now.  The Spain heavily influenced Florida, California and the American Southwest.  France’s influence was felt all along the Mississippi River and Great Lakes areas.  To ignore or deny these groups’ impact on American culture in favor of a tiny sliver of white, New England Protestants, is intellectually dishonest.  Brooks takes a sliver of early America, ascribes general characteristics to it that were not true and then claims these traits are what made this country great.

Let’s fast forward a dozen score years or so to the early 1800’s and visit another group of people touted as the champions of The American Spirit of Individualism-The Pioneers.  You know the salt of the earth, lovers of capitalism and all things holy, the people who settled the West and spread the seeds of rugged individualism like they were John Holmes at Burning Man. According to people like Brooks, the Pioneers were the hardworking, Bible toting, individualist progeny of John Smith, William Bradford and Adam Smith.  Again I call “Bullshit!”  Hardworking? Absolutely.  It was pretty difficult to not have to work hard to survive during this time unless you were filthy rich.  The technology at the time was better than it was in colonial times but it still wasn’t good enough to diminish the day-to-day demands of life in the 1800’s.  Individualists?  Hell no!  I don’t even know where this idea came from.  Even the most cursory look at this era shows quite the contrary.

Remember the stories and pictures of the Pioneers moving across the Great Plains along the Oregon Trail? Did they make this trek one wagon at a time, as individuals?  No. There is a reason they were called wagon trains because they moved as groups.  When they arrived at their intended destinations did they head off in different directions and go all Jeremiah Johnson?  No. They either joined settlements already in progress or started their own, as a group.  They moved as a group, built communities as a group, defended their properties and families as a group…  I come from Pioneer stock.  My genealogy tree has a branch that goes back directly to Brigham Young (of course with 56 kids from 16 of his 55 wives, you can’t swing a dead cat along the Wasatch Range of Utah without hitting someone who is related to Brigham).  Every single aspect of Mormon history, from moving to and building up Nauvoo Illinois, to crossing the prairie, to Brigham leading the faithful into the Salt Lake Valley through Emigration Canyon and pronouncing “This is the place”, to building Salt Lake City was a group, not an individual activity.  It was so communal and such a collective effort that Marx and Engels would have been “Whoa, lighten up a bit, let a brother get some alone time.”

One argument against my take is-“These groups had to band together for pragmatic reasons.  There were extenuating circumstances and variables that forced them to operate as a group in order to survive.”  My response to this critique is-“Yeah.  Your point being what?”  Either working together, spreading out risks and rewards works and yields positive results or it doesn’t.  What the reasons are for doing so are irrelevant.  It doesn’t and shouldn’t matter what the reasons are for opting for the group versus the individual approach.  I fail to see how changing the reasons either changes the efficacy or the results.  Another way of looking at it is to ask the question, “Do you think they could have achieved the same results via the individualism route?”  There doesn’t seem to be any historical evidence to support that they could.  I’m skeptical that the Pioneers didn’t know how to deal with the big issues they faced and followed the community approach to problem solving out of ignorance, stupidity or tradition.  If you think they could have achieved the same or better results by acting as individuals, I would need to see some evidentiary support to back up this position.

The next defense of individualism is along the lines-“That was then, this in now.  The world has changed so the need for the community approach has diminished in importance and has been replaced with the superior, individualism approach.” There are two main problems with this argument.  First, Brooks and the defenders of individualism are not saying, “The community approach WAS the driving force behind early American exceptionalism but now it is the individual.”  The view they hold to be innately true is that it WAS individualism that made America great. Individualism brought to this country by God fearing, religious freedom seeking, hardworking  Europeans, passed down through the generations or absorbed by some sort of osmosis where the trait, like blond hair to Scandinavians, is dominant in conservatives.  Brooks and company might admit that the community approach played a role, just not THE role in making America great.  It was individualism that built that.  Uh......., no.  

Second, the “but the circumstances have changed and the individual plays a fundamentally more important rule” argument is also bullshit.  Certainly the nature of the problems have changed.  We don’t typically worry about packs of wolves, marauding Indians, small pox, the plague, dysentery, being snowed in an unable to get food for weeks in today’s society.  We live in a much more technologically advanced world where these types of problems have adequately been addressed and dealt with.  When it comes to many of the problems and situations that faced the early settlers, we will never face them.  Why?  Because are Founders and those that came after them, as communities, found solutions to those problems.  But, just because those problems either don’t exist or are rare does not mean that we currently are sans problems.  With the advancement of technologies, the world has expanded where people are not limited to living in a small area of the world most of their lives, where commerce and ideas travel around the world at an unbelievable speed.  We’ve gone from regional to a world economy. While the small, regional problems of the past have been handled, there are larger often global problems that need our attention.  I don’t see how, if individualism couldn’t properly deal with the small, regional problems, it can possibly take care of larger ones. If anything, the larger problems need a larger community.

Imagine a small town in Nebraska in the late 1800’s whose local bank is having a cash flow problem.  The town needs the bank so they come together and as a group, deposit enough money to keep the bank going.  Fast forward to September 2008 where the large banks and financial institutions in the U.S. who have branches across the country and all over the world and also have deep, financial ties to other countries’ banks.  They have a serious cash flow problem.  One of these banks was Bank of America. Imagine the B of A branch in Minden Nebraska, population 3000.  It doesn’t matter how community minded and organized the kind citizens of Minden are, nothing they do can safe their local bank from collapse because it belongs to a much larger entity.  So, in order to address the problem, the definition of community needs to expand. The financial problem was nationwide so it took the entire nation to adequately address the U.S. banking problem.  The global financial problem took the global community to address and fix it. It is not that individuals have not made significant contributions but outside the arts, very few have had a big impact on the economy or culture of America.  What makes America great and the advantage we have over just about every other country is our diversity. Homogeneous societies can accomplish a lot and often quickly because as a group, they think pretty much alike.  Their greatest limitation is thinking outside their cultural box.  America, with its wide diversity of cultures always has voices outside the box providing input.  This is a major force behind our innovations and progress the past couple of hundred years.

Name a major economic event in America’s history that was the result of individualism.  There might be some but the majority are ones undertaken by either groups or the government (group) for the betterment of its citizens (huge group).  Louisiana Purchase, Seward’s Folly, Transcontinental Railroad, Interstate Highway System, Tennessee Valley Authority, Space Race, WWII, GI Bill, Erie Canal, St. Lawrence Seaway, Panama Canal, Hoover Dam…all were paid for by the group, built by groups and benifitted groups of the population.

Individuals who have been put on the pedestal of individualism didn’t accomplish what they did by themselves.  Edison is thought to be one of America’s greatest inventors (Tesla was much better but Edison was a better marketer). Growing up, the image of Edison was him laboring long, arduous hours by himself in is laboratory. The reality is he had a very large team of some of the world’s top people working in his lab in Menlo Park and was heavily funded.

Individualism is important and certainly has played a role in America’s rise to power.  But, individualism didn’t have the starring role in “Making America Great”. That role was played by a cast of thousands.  Individualism was a bit player whose name wouldn’t come up in the end credits until half the audience had already left the theater.

[foreverlogical]

TRYING TO SURVIVE THROUGH COVID The Enchanted Forest theme park in Oregon is created, owned and operated by our family, including our father, creator Roger Tofte, now 90 years old, with 3 generations now working in the park. Prior to Covid we were a thriving business and had no debt. Then Covid hit and now at the end of our season, we are in debt and that debt will continue to rise quickly until Covid has passed and business returns to normal. We will celebrate our 50 year anniversary August 8, 2021 and are determined to make it to celebrate our 50th year anniversary. It is time to ask for help. WHAT HAPPENED? During the first half of our 6 month 2020 season, by state mandate we were not allowed to open in any capacity. We were disappointed that any of our safety plans, even private family tours, were not considered because we were classified as an amusement park. When we were allowed to open for the last half of our season, we were only allowed a capacity of 250 people including employees. Our park’s capacity is several thousand guests, so 250, including employees, does not begin to pay our bills. We have been very responsible, with temperature checks, sanitizing rides between each rider, extreme sanitizing, even outside, closing areas of the park where proper social distancing or sanitizing cannot be maintained, online reservations to control and document capacity and much more. We have worked hard to cut our operating expenses in less than half, but even so, that small capacity leads us further and further into debt. We are trying to be creative and exhaust all possible sources of income. We have put more items on our online store and started to auction off our father’s paintings, prints and memorabilia. This is why we have started our GoFundMe...to keep Enchanted Forest open to be enjoyed long after Covid is gone. THE ENCHANTED FOREST STORY In the 60's, Roger, father of four young children, realized there was very little for a family to see and do together in Oregon. He formulated the idea for a theme park where he could use his creative talents and though he had very little time or money to make his dream a reality, he persisted anyway. He purchased the original 20 acres of land off Interstate 5 for four thousand dollars, in monthly payments of fifty dollars and began construction in 1964. He worked full-time at the Oregon State Highway Department. However, to finance his dream, he repaired watches and took extra commercial art jobs in his spare time, buying one sack of cement at a time. He worked on building the park after work and on weekends. The Tofte's own backyard became filled with storybook figures and small buildings as Roger also used every spare second at home to work on his dream. Everyone but Roger thought it was foolish to think that this idea could work. Roger's friends and co-workers used to tease him about his work on "Idiot Hill." That also seemed to be the bank's idea. Close to opening, Roger and Mavis needed $2,000 to put on the last touches to the park in order to be able to open, but had run out of every last dime. Their own bank would not loan them the money, because, of course, the Tofte family didn't have any cash. Only one bank took the chance on them and loaned them the money. Roger originally thought it would take only two years to build the Storybook Trail, which was the first section that he needed to complete before the park could open. Finally, after seven years, at 2:00 on Sunday, August 8, 1971, Roger and his wife Mavis hung up a piece of butcher paper saying "OPEN" on the fence and the first visitors entered the park. Admission was one dollar for adults and fifty cents for children and the starting wage was $1.65 per hour. There were 75 people the first day and 1,000 people the next Sunday. Roger's dream was finally a reality with Roger as the creative force and Mavis as the business head. Roger’s wife Mavis was the business head of Enchanted Forest until diagnosed with cancer and handed off the day to day operations of running the business to daughters Susan and Mary when they were young adults. Through the years, Roger and his family have been adding to his dream with new additions to the park. The Tofteville western town was built the second year, and the Haunted House opened in 1974. The Comedy Theatre was built for daughter Susan, who writes and directs the outrageous musical comedies based on fairy-tales and composes all park music. Money was continually put back into the business creating more to see and do. Over the years many more attractions were added, the Ice Mountain Bobsled Roller Coaster, The English Village, the Fantasy Fountains water-light show, the Big-Timber Log Flume ride, kiddie rides, and the interactive target shooting ride, The Challenge of Mondor. Now, Roger Tofte, though still the ringleader of Enchanted Forest, has successfully incorporated 2 of his children into the business, Susan and Mary, 2 of his grandchildren, Derek and Tim, Roger’s brother-in-law Dale and Tim’s wife, Ashley. According to Susan, this arrangement has worked out quite well, "We're very lucky. We get along because we're each in charge of different projects and our areas don't overlap much. We work very well together." THE FUTURE With three generations of the Tofte family working at Enchanted Forest, the tradition and creativity will be carried on for many years to come with your help. Roger can still be seen almost daily out working in the park. If you see a man in his 90s riding around on a moped or repairing cement, it is probably Roger! As Roger says, " We believe in attention to artistic detail. We want to offer our visitors something unique, with a lot of variety. We strive to be the hidden gem that people discover as their own special place." Our goal right now is to save the business and survive through Covid so we are here for future generations to enjoy. We have cut our operating budget to less than half of what it would be during a normal year, but even so, with a capacity of only 250 mandated by our our state, this does not begin to cover costs to keep us in business. We will keep working hard and use all of our creativity, but we have decided this is the time to ask for help. For more information about Enchanted Forest go to: enchantedforest.com To see the video interview with family member and park Co-manager Susan Vaslev with Aaron Mesh from Willamette Week go to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbi6RbVxmlM&feature=emb_logo CONTRIBUTIONS OR GIFTS TO ENCHANTED FOREST, INC. ARE NOT TAX DEDUCTIBLE.  Any contributions received shall be considered gifts to Enchanted Forest, Inc., which is a for profit corporation.  Contributors will not receive any good or services in exchange for their gifts.  At the discretion of Enchanted Forest gifts received will be used to cover Enchanted Forest’s ongoing costs and expenses in an effort to help Enchanted Forest survive and provide family fun and adventure to future generations of Oregonians to come. Creator Roger Tofte in front of the iconic Snow White Witch's head, created in the 60s.

[mypubliclands]

Happy International Day of Forests!

The United Nations designated this day to recognize all of the vitally important facets of global forestry: sustainable forest management; biodiversity conservation; and contributing to the prosperity, well-being of current and future generations.

In America, the Bureau of Land Management manages about 65 million acres of forest and woodlands, protecting wildlife habitat, maintaining clean water and practicing sustainable timber harvesting, to name just a few aspects of its forest management plan. In essence, everything that forests provide today needs to be provided in the future. 

🌳 Learn more about BLM forests: https://goo.gl/qgVkCQ